Courage Does Not Always Roar
by ButterflyMane
Summary: 3 years after the war and Harry is tentatively re-building the pieces of his life, but the one person who refuses to acknowledge their past is the one person he worked the hardest to save. Can Harry reach out to the bravest man he's ever known? Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Courage Does Not Always Roar

Chapter 1

The young man sighed as he strode leisurely up a sweeping green bank towards an impossibly large, imposing, historic building, wrought iron gates swinging shut seemingly of their own accord behind him.

The castle stood proudly against the scorching late August sun, the contrast against the burning blue sky imprinting itself on to the back of his eyes, bright shapes dancing as he turned to saviour the warmth before climbing the steps to be engulfed by his familiar, unchanged home.

"Mr. Potter…" a well-known, clipped Scottish brogue reached his ears as he crossed the threshold. The young man felt his heart surge with fondness at the voice and allowed the smile of familiarity to wash across his features.

"Minerva." he acknowledged, squinting through the cool, dim interior of the large entrance hall.

Crossing to him with a speed and elegance that belied her considerable age, the headmistress of Hogwarts swept across the stone floor, coming to rest in front of him. A kind smile lit her features, her eyes crinkling as they took in the appearance of her former pupil.

"I trust you had a good summer break?" Minerva McGonagall enquired, eyeing Harry intensely, her newly-acquired square spectacles only slightly diverting her piercing gaze.

"Yes," came Harry's reply "Though it was over too quickly." he added, smiling ruefully.

"Ah, the curse of the Teacher," Minerva sniffed "Never free from our charges for long…" the professor gestured to the corridor in front of them, and they started down it, falling in to companionable silence as they walked.

"This place never seems to change," Harry mused, his tone calm but a slight edge to it nonetheless, as he observed the quiet, well known halls with an appraising gaze "it's almost as if nothing has ever happened here."

"The magic of Hogwarts…" Minerva replied "Keeping its occupants' secrets long after they have been forgotten." sounding more like the school's former Head than Harry was really comfortable with.

"Its latest secrets will not be forgotten in a hurry." Harry added with a frown, observing the woman striding confidently beside him.

They stopped in front of a seemingly lifeless stone Gargoyle. Harry felt a light pressure on his shoulder as Minerva placed her warm palm upon it, removing it gently but efficiently a few seconds later.

"Indeed they won't, Harry; by the walls, or the residents."

The continued up as the staircase slowly rotated, settling in to the circular office as Minerva surveyed Harry over her spectacles, as he had once been observed by the Headmaster who was now immortalised in a portrait to the right of Minerva, a painted set of twinkling eyes that were now also watching him intently. Harry squirmed slightly under the scrutiny. He may have survived a war and aged since then, but his two former professors seemed to know just how to make Harry feel every inch the bewildered school boy he wasn't sure he had completely left behind.

"What did you get up this summer then, Minerva?" Harry asked rather abruptly, attempting to break the sudden tension.

"Oh, this and that…" Minerva replied after a moment, moving her hand in a sweeping motion "A large part of the past few weeks have been swallowed up by the seemingly endless task of renewing the castle wards…" a click of her tongue alerted Harry to the small amount of irritation Minerva must have felt at this time-consuming task "If it hadn't been for Severus and his considerable skill in assisting me, I dare say I'd still be out there, burning to a crisp."

Harry inclined his head, his interest piqued "Snape spent the summer here…?"

"Yes, ," her brow furrowed in annoyance "Deputy _Headmaster_ Snape is committed to upholding the security of the castle, as all senior staff are."

Harry huffed silently, feeling the prickle of his own irritation. He didn't appreciate the insinuation that it was only _senior _faculty memberswho cared about the overall safety of the school. Hadn't he proven that when he fought for it, died for it, just three years ago?

He forced his rearing anger back with practised effort. This was his boss, after all, as well as one of his trusted friends.

"Now Mr Potter," Minerva continued with the formality, letting Harry know he was not yet forgiven for his momentary lack of respect "Regarding your teaching responsibilities this year…"

Minerva explained with a practised, business-like tone that as Harry had completed his first year of teaching, he would now be taking on a heavier class workload, namely, the teaching of OWL and NEWT level students. Harry felt the nervous shift of his insides at this. He wasn't much older than NEWT students- how would he teach them effectively?

Harry listened silently as Minerva outlined the second-year Apprentice Teacher programme, detailing his need for regular reviews of his ability to give appropriate grades, and the timetabled observation of his practical abilities in action.

"Now, in relation to your supervisor, you must report to Severus by the middle of next week…."

"Severus?" Harry interrupted, incredulous "_Snape?_"

"Well yes, Potter, how many other Severus's do you know?" replied Minerva, annoyance colouring her tone.

"As I was saying, by the middle of next week you should have your plans together for a rough outline of the curriculum for your OWL and NEWT level students; they will be subjected to review and approval by your named supervisor before you are to consider using them…"

Minerva continued, stoically ignoring Harry's scowl, until he finally spoke in the quiet that followed her stern speech.

"Any forced contact between Severus Snape and I is going to end badly," Harry stated, stiffly "We don't have the best history in this arena- in fact, it's pretty disastrous."

"Be that as it may, Potter, you will report to him regardless." replied Minerva, in a tone that left no room for argument.

"But why_?" _Harry asked hotly, thoroughly irritated by the woman's ignorance of his obvious discomfort. How was he going to work with Snape, of all people, especially after what had happened? He'd rather date the Giant Squid.

"Because Severus is the only one in this school with experience of teaching in your chosen area, Potter, he is ideally placed to support you. Need I remind you that you are here on an apprenticeship basis and as such do not have the foundation of previous study the other professors possess; you require his guidance and expertise, and you _will_ be grateful for it."

"I thought his _expertise_ was in Potions." Harry ground out, thoroughly aware of how juvenile he sounded, but unable to stop himself regardless.

"Enough, Harry," Minerva implored, looking very much like the strict grandmother figure he remembered. He wilted under her chilly gaze. "Do not waste this opportunity. I am fully aware of the animosity between you two and think it is high time you both grew out of it- you are an adult, and you are a colleague. Please act like it." Harry felt the tendrils of a blush creeping in to his cheeks, and a slight feeling of shame bubbled somewhere near his rib cage. Ofcourse he was being ridiculous. He'd survived a war. He was relatively sure he could handle working in close proximity to a man who had never reacted to him in any way other way than intense dislike. Relatively.

Harry sighed. Being answerable to Snape, having him scrutinise his work and judge his abilities- again. It really did feel like nothing had changed.

"Alright." Harry conceded, receiving the file of parchment Minerva had levitated towards him.

"Good." Minerva replied, already beginning to rifle through an enormous pile of paperwork. Harry understood that he was being dismissed and left the office with considerably less spring in his step.

Harry wondered the castle, travelling down two floors and coming to rest in front of an unusual portrait in a quiet corner of the castle- an area which, thanks to a mild discomfort charm, caused any wayward pupil who wondered near it to have a sudden need to empty their bladder. Harry smiled slightly when he remembered this, musing as to whether any previous teacher living in some of the various quarters housed in this area had drawn inspiration from the likes of the Weasley twins.

Harry gazed at the portrait, unable to stop the grin breaking out as a small figure swooped in to the frame riding a mahogany broomstick, his seemingly over-large ears flapping in the magically-appearing breeze.

"Harry Potter Sir!" Squeaked the figure as he spotted Harry waiting patiently in front of the golden frame "Dobby has missed his friend very much! Has Harry Potter had a good summer?!" asked the house elf, dismounting the broom and flashing Harry a toothy smile.

"Yeah, thanks Dobby. How about you?" Harry questioned, still awed at how he could have a conversation with a face he thought he would never look upon again.

"Oh, yes Harry Potter Sir, Dobby has had lots of time to explore the castle waiting for Harry Potter to return. Dobby has made good friends with the kind Mermaid in the prefects' bathroom Sir, she has been helping Dobby to find his way through the many secret floors of Hogwarts!"

"I reckon you should watch out for that Mermaid Dobby!" Harry laughed, watching the elf as he tried to hide the pink spots appearing on his cheeks "I hear she's quite the devious antique…" Harry winked at him and was rewarded by the elf's shy smile.

"What is Harry Potter choosing as a password this year…?"

"Um, I'm not sure yet," Harry answered, thoughtfully "I'll get back to you, but for now I'll keep the old one. _Expelliarmus!_" Harry muttered and Dobby nodded, bowing so low his long nose was temporarily kinked at the end, as the frame swung forward, revealing a small archway that was becoming larger by the split-second. By the time Harry had blinked twice, a large stone entrance faced him, a medium-sized room extending beyond it.

Harry remembered when he had received his portrait, just over a year ago, a congratulations present from Hermione for obtaining his position as Hogwarts' latest Defence Against The Dark Arts professor. When she had presented it to him, he had cut her off mid-excited explanation of how she had taken it to the best wizard-painter she could find, extracting every memory of their lost friend for the painter to peruse and wind in to his magical masterpiece. Harry had enveloped her in a tight hug, barely containing his emotions at such a thoughtful and poignant gift. Hermione had looked positively delighted as she'd rushed off to tell Ron of Harry's reaction, leaving him to one of the most memorable conversations of his life. He treasured it.

Harry's quarters were cosy, worn, comfortable and, for the moment, impeccably tidy. He had emerged in to a round sitting room, a comfortable-looking wine-coloured leather sofa and chair set to his right facing the dominating stone fireplace, a large strip of oak lay in-set on the stone, below a shelf that held various photographs and a single golden snitch at one end. The oak had been a gift from Hagrid, and it was exquisite. Harry felt himself becoming emotional again as his finger traced over the beautiful carvings, hand crafted lovingly by his friend- an intricate design of tribal markings, woodland leaves, and small flowers, all woven around the wonderfully detailed faces of a lion, snake, eagle and badger.

To his left sat a large desk, compartments and small shelves crowded with parchment, old quills and ink bottles. Next to the desk extended a large book-case, crammed with various titles and trinkets. The edge of the shelving reached the threshold of a small kitchen area, which Harry barely used except to make much-required caffeinated morning drinks after a late night of essay-marking.

The circular room converged in to small, single hallway, in which two doors led off- one to a decent sized bathroom which held a large walk-in shower at one end, and the other to Harry's single bed chamber. The bedroom held a double four-poster bed with cream netted hangings adorned with blood-red ties, and midnight-blue cotton sheets. At the foot of the bed lay a warm patchwork quilt in muted maroon and wine coloured squares and octagons of fabric. This quilt had been gifted to him from the skilled hands of Mrs Weasley, who had used his old school and Quidditch robes, as well as hand-knitted jumpers he'd grown out of to weave a wonderful memento to the Gryffindor identity he'd been so very proud of. The bed was the centre piece, with muted furnishings; a large wardrobe, dressing table, and end tables going with the neatly positioned and newly-returned luggage trunk at the foot of the bed, completing the room. An ornate window with a large windowsill perfect for sitting and gazing out over the surrounding lake and hills spilt light over the room, preventing it from looking cramped.

As Harry began the motions of unpacking, he tried not to consider the year ahead, and specifically the ill-tempered, grudging professor who was supposed to help guide him in to a solo career. Harry groaned as he recalled their interactions during the last school year, which were few, rarely isolated with just the two of them and mostly wholly uncomfortable to think about, usually resolving in Harry trying (but mostly failing) not to storm off after a well-aimed, acidic insult in his general direction.

Indeed, the only person who did not really seem to rejoice in the peace that had settled over the wizarding community was Severus Snape, who once again took up his position of Potions Master gladly once his name had been cleared, also undertaking the role of Deputy Headmaster and relinquishing the role of Head of Slytherin to Professor Vector. With his spare time, Harry knew via the rest of the staff body, he researched and studied and kept to himself, rarely engaging with the faculty except when absolutely necessary. He certainly had no time for the newest Professor Potter and his tentative attempts at building a reasonable acquaintance between the two of them.

If Snape was at all cheered by the now non-existent threat of being called to the side of a psychopath at any moment to do his bidding, observe unspeakable cruelty and devastating violence, whilst also carrying out a flawless impression of a double agent, he did not show it.

It was almost as if he lived as though none of it had happened, Harry mused. The only visible sign Snape had even suffered a whisper of war were the raised, angry scars spidering almost the entire side of his neck; a remainder of the almost-fatal snake bite he had sustained during the historic battle. Though Harry knew it would have been easy for Snape to do so, he never sought to hide the scars with magic, instead wearing a collar that, though high, only covered a small portion of the damage, and scowling furiously at anyone who dared to stare too long.

Ever close to the surface, Harry allowed the familiar scenes to swim in his mind. The noise, the absolute cacophony of chaos, the bloodshed and grief that littered these very halls in the hours during and after the final battle, echoed in his head as his eyes shuttered closed at the vivid flashback.

He remembered the feel of the dusty floor, his knees grinding in to the grit of the Shrieking Shack as he desperately returned to the bundle on the floor, a sickening flood of red spread out around it. He had turned Snape over, his trembling hands slipping on the red, sticky ooze as he desperately tried to hold the frighteningly-open wound together. He was eternally glad that he had Hermione by his side, who calmly began passing him supplies from her newly-collected, invaluable beaded bag. Harry had fought hard against the bubble of hysteria that had formed in his chest when he realised that they probably owed all of their lives to the contents of that magically-extended piece of material. He poured blood-replenishing potion down the dangerously-white lips of his former-professor, followed by the vial of specific snake antidote that Hermione had somehow possessed the infallible intellect to collect from Snape's private stores on her travels through a warring castle.

Harry was simply too weary and too afraid to even attempt to discover if there was still a heartbeat flickering in Severus Snape, too sickened to discover yet more death on this day that he knew he would never fully recover from.

They transferred him as quickly and efficiently as they could manage, picking their way as discreetly as possible through the devastation, shuffling their injured bodies through an injured castle. They had brought him to the hospital wing, and sought out Madame Pomfrey, who was working desperately with a volunteer team from St'Mungo's Hospital to treat the injured and respect and identify the dead. She surveyed Snape with a pale face and thin lips, beginning to work immediately. Harry had walked away, knowing that he could not stand to watch, could not stand such uncertainty.

He had gone to find his friends, clinging to those he still had whilst desperately trying to hold his aching heart together as they mourned those they had lost.

It was some hours later when Harry had returned, taking in the deathly sight of Snape- as pale as the sheet he laid on, gauze completely obscuring his neck as it traversed his wound. Harry had known that Snape had died then, that all of his efforts had not been enough, again.

It took Madame Pomfrey's gentle but firm insistence, pressing Harry's hand to Snape's gowned chest so he could feel the rapid stuttering of a shocked but fighting heart, for him to believe that, for the moment, life flickered through that icy man.

Snape's recovery had been a long one, but to everyone's surprise, he made a seemingly full recovery, continuing his position as soon as he was able, acting as he always had done before, resentfully accepting Harry's testimony on his behalf- a major contributing factor in his full pardon and Order of Merlin, First Class.

On some level though, Harry knew that Snape was perhaps not quite as fine as he seemed. How could he, when the world had tilted so utterly on its own axis, with its occupants only just beginning to find their feet.

Harry sat on his windowsill, drawing his knees up and resting his chin on his knees, a reflexive movement when his memories pulled him in to a darkness he only just managed to keep at bay most of the time, and gazed with unseeing eyes over the glittering lake, roaring orange in the dying sun.

Just as every moment since his choice to return to the land of the living had been, Harry knew that this would also be a challenging year.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

**AlmondWith UnicornHair thanking you so much for your kind review, I hope that your questions will be answered in the next chapter. **

**Still setting the scene somewhat, so not particularly action-based but I wanted to emphasise the current peace of those who reside in this particular Potter land now. Except for one person, ofcourse. Hope you enjoy. **

**Chapter 2 **

Harry emerged in to consciousness slowly the following morning following a restless night, blinking in the warm sunlight as he rolled over in his soft sheets. He groaned in to his comforting pillow as he remembered with a start that he was in his teacher's quarters; his calm, languid, friend and sun-filled summer was over, he had more work than he could possibly contemplate doing, and the person who was overseeing the aforementioned work relished his presence as much as Harry had ever coveted the company of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

He reluctantly pulled himself from the comfortable space, willing himself to get familiar with parting company with his bed far earlier than he would have liked, as he would be doing for the forseeable future.

0000

A short while later and Harry had settled himself at the foot of a large oak tree over-looking the lake. It was a glorious day again, and he revelled in the smell of summer; fresh grass, hot earth and cool water assaulting his senses. He revelled again as he realised that not only was he alive to do such a thing, but he was also free to, with no threat to his or his loved ones existence dampening his ability to recognise the simplest of pleasures. Even now, after all this time, Harry still struggled occasionally to quite believe he'd made it through his school years, through a war that had devastated the world as he knew it.

It had taken time, more time than Harry had thought possible, to begin to feel even remotely normal again. The heavy, oppressive haze of grief had permeated every inch of his existence, the storm clouds of utterly terrifying nightmares dogging every sleeping moment, colouring his waking ones with frayed nerves and anxious thoughts. Deciding to walk to his death had not been nearly as challenging as learning to live again, but now, more and more frequently, he could feel life creeping back in to even the darkest of places, soothing hurts he had not even known he had been harbouring. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever feel completely whole again, but he was more than willing to try.

He leant his head back against the wide trunk, pausing from his scribblings to rest his eyes and drink in the quiet of the grounds, appreciating the calmness even more knowing how chaotic and life-filled it would be just a few days from now.

Harry's thoughts turned to his friends, his family. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna and the rest of the Weasleys. His toddling, curious Godson Teddy Lupin who was fast growing in to a joy-filled human being who made Harry laugh and ache in equal measures as he demonstrated a unique mix of his parent's characteristics.

The only person he missed was Ginny, though he tried to tell himself he didn't really deserve to. They had been together for a year and a half after the war, finding each other through love and lust, shared grief and understanding as they desperately clung to each other throughout the aftermath. It had been Harry who had realised he was no longer in love with her, though he tried to ignore it desperately and look suitably abashed but pleased when the topics of the fusing of the Potter and Weasley houses was raised at the frequent trips to the Burrow dining table. He had realised that things were too different, he was too different, and though he had tried, he had simply not been able to bridge the gap, unable to bring Ginny forward in to his new life and never able to return, either.

Ginny had taken it remarkably well, when he had finally realised that it was preferable to tell someone you no longer loved them rather than showing it to them through actions he would never be able to retract. She had understood, though Harry knew he had deeply hurt her.

Their friendship, however, had never been repaired, and his friendship with Ron had taken a significant beating as well, though thankfully Hermione's influence had eventually pulled them back together.

0000

Four days after his return to Hogwarts, four days which had been blissfully free of Severus Snape and the evenings of which had been pleasantly speckled in the company of various returning faculty members, found Harry unable to move forward with his work. To complete the lesson plans fully, he needed the guidance and reviewing skills of a supervisor, and that meant seeking out the one person he had been keen to avoid this year.

Grimacing slightly at the thought of how the face of his former professor would look should Harry decide to appear at his quarters unannounced, he pulled a piece of parchment, quill and ink bottle towards him, and carefully composed a formal note-

_Dear Professor Snape, _

_I hope you are well. I understand that you have been allocated as my named supervisor for the second year of the Teaching Apprenticeship. As such, I require your assistance in elements of the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum this year. _

_May I request a meet at your convenience in the coming days? _

_Best wishes, _

_Harry Potter _

Harry folded the note carefully and swept up to the owlery, smelling the metallic, oppressive air of a brewing thunderstorm as he did so. Harry's new screech owl, Socrates (or 'Sox' as Harry had taken to calling him, a sad smile playing on his face as he remembered his former elf- friend's and the Headmaster's fond attachment to woolly foot garments) dutifully took off, pleased to have been given a relatively short journey that didn't take him far from the comforts of the owlery.

Harry had barely settled down to lunch when a curt reply arrived in front of his goblet of juice, carried by Sox who inclined his head in greeting before engaging in chasing Harry's leftover peas around the plate.

_Mr Potter, _

_8 o'clock tonight, my office. Do not be late. _

_-S.S _

He had nearly snorted in to his mashed potato. Really, Harry thought, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Could the dislike be any more apparent? And Snape had once had the audacity to accuse _him_ of having no subtlety.

0000

It was with a slightly heavy heart that Harry descended in to the faintly damp and permanently chilly dungeons, stopping in front of Snape's office door at exactly five minutes to eight that evening. For once, Harry was glad of the thick walls of the deepest floor of Hogwarts. The somewhat explosive nature of the storm rolling overhead was setting his teeth on edge as it tore across the sky.

Harry knocked and waited, resisting the urge to shuffle and squirm with trepidation. The door swung open of its own accord, allowing him entrance to the gloomy office before him.

Harry sensed rather than saw Snape, tucked in a corner of his office seemingly re-stocking his grim-looking shelves with further gruesome ingredients. His appearance had not changed; still tall, slim, intimidating with long, pale, skilled fingers. The same inky, shrewd eyes, Harry knew, were lurking under the curtain of hair that brushed his shoulders in lank tendrils. He was devoid of colour, the black robes seeming to absorb him; that was, except for the blood red scarring clawing over his neck that had not lessened over time in its vivid staining.

He did not look up and Harry grew nervous as the seconds ticked on.

Evetually, he cleared his throat "Er…good evening, Professor Snape." Harry winced as his voice shook slightly. Harry did _not_ want Snape to know how uncomfortable he was about this arrangement.

Snape slowly turned to him, though it was difficult to see if he was meeting Harry's gaze through the poor lighting of the room.

"Mr. Potter…" replied Snape in a smooth, flat voice, nodding in Harry's general direction.

He said nothing further, and continued to quietly shuffle the objects on the shelving.

Harry could feel his muscles tensing as the storm pulsed around the castle. He could only hear the distant rumble of thunder but the claustrophobic feel of the atmosphere combined with the almost suffocating dislike emanating from the man in front of him made him want to turn on his heel and stalk away, if only to get some fresh air.

"You have cobbled together some semblance of a lesson plan?" Came a sudden harsh voice, startling Harry from his uncomfortable thoughts.

"Yes." Harry muttered through gritted teeth. His discomfort was almost unbearable.

"Leave them on the desk and return here, same time tomorrow evening, where we will discuss the inevitable…" Harry heard the familiar sneer enter Snape's voice "_Issues…_"

Harry placed the pile of parchment he'd been clutching on to the rough wooden desk with unstable fingers, wanting nothing more than to escape, feeling annoyed that Snape did not even possess the common courtesy of addressing Harry directly.

"Goodnight Professor." Harry said, shortly, in to the silence as he left the room.

Well, Harry had conceded when he'd made his way back to his quarters and clasped wooden shutters over his window, blocking some of the sound and all of the sights of the violent weather outside, it could have been much worse. There had been no shouting, no arguing, no flying objects and only an insinuation of an insult, rather than a blatant one. It was probably one of his more peaceful interactions with his former professor.

Suddenly Harry was slightly fearful of just how much 'support' he was going to be receiving this year. Judging by the virtually arctic and utterly bored reception he had just gotten, it sure as heck wasn't going to be the supportive kind.

0000

Harry tried to keep himself busy the following day, clearing out his belongings, re-organising his book shelves, answering letters and even going for a brief flying session to lighten his mood, soaring through the warm winds of the beautifully clear day the storm had left in its wake.

Still, the evening came around far too quickly, and Harry was once again in front of the imposing dungeon door.

Snape had still yet to meet his gaze as he pointed to the chair strategically placed in front of his desk, which Harry took, trying not to be too obvious as he shot furtive glances at him, attempting to discern his mood.

Harry heard the parchment stutter across the rough desk as Snape manoeuvred the pile towards him, and Harry retrieved it, noting with relief that there were few comments around his carefully constructed charts and bullet points. The little bubble of hope that had grown in his chest, the thought that his effort wasn't completely off track, was burst rather abruptly as Harry unearthed the page underneath the top piece. There was almost more red ink than black, spidery barbed insults that seem to prick at Harry's resolve to stay calm no matter how he was provoked in the abrasive man's presence.

Harry frowned at Snape as he met the cool glare coming his way.

"I suggest those are re-drafted and re-submitted to myself tomorrow, Potter," Snape smirked "They require considerable alteration."

"Wait, we're not going to discuss it?" Harry asked, anger creeping in to his tone "What if I have questions?"

"Ask, then." Snape snapped, his cool exterior slipping slightly.

Harry leafed through the parchment, deliberating over which 'issue' to raise first.

"You have a problem with my placement of the classes on the Unforgiveables?" He enquired, incredulously.

"They are too early in the curriculum." Snap replied, dismissively.

"They are at the very end of the curse module that spans the majority of the first semester. Where else do you suggest I put them?"

"I have the misfortune of giving you my opinion on your teaching strategies, Potter," Snape hissed, slapping both of his palms on the desk as he leant forward, looking genuinely angry "I am here to guide you, not claim your duties as my own!"

"I'm not _asking_ you to!" Harry bit back, trying desperately to keep his inflection calm, though he could feel the dangerous flush of anger sweeping up his neck.

"I am not surprised," Snape continued, ignoring him "That you failed to implement any kind of strategy for those pupils who may find the subject of the Unforgiveable Curses inherently upsetting. Have you forgotten that your fifth year students observed a war also? May have known those who suffered or died as a result of those curses, may have witnessed it, even?" Snape continued, his voice smooth again, provoking.

"Ofcourse you didn't. Why would your consideration extend beyond your own inflated ego as you assume responsibility for a role you appear to be woefully under-prepared for?"

"I _have_ considered it," Harry was beginning to tremble slightly as his words came out in a rush "I've discussed it with Madame Pomfrey who will be aware of when the classes are should I need her help, I will address the group the week before the class to give them time to approach me should they want and-" Harry paused momentarily to jerk a list free from the pile of papers he was holding "- I've compiled a list of those students whom I know to have witnessed distressing events, or those who lost relatives in the war!_ Ofcourse_ I've considered it, how could I not, when one of my closest friends is Neville, who freaked out in our fourth year class for the same reason?!" Harry's voice had risen considerably now, though his brain echoed dimly with the insistence that he had just responded rather admirably to some well-placed bait.

"Why do you care anyway?" Harry threw at him, his face furious "Since when has student welfare been anywhere on your priority list?! You're just using this as a way to humiliate me! I didn't even know I was supposed to record that kind of material for you to see!"

"Finished?" Snape asked, his voice low and dangerous and contained.

Harry simply glared.

"Then get out."

"What?" Harry snapped, confused.

"Out. NOW!" He shouted and Harry flinched for the first time at the loathing etched in to the man's features, already moving before the last syllable had reached his ears, his fingers scrabbling as he fought to keep the papers in place. He rushed from the dungeons, stumbling slightly in his haste to escape.

0000

The next day Harry could be found in his usual spot, shading from the midday heat, the sparkles of the lake reflected in his contemplative chartreuse eyes. He had been subdued all morning, though he had begun to annoy himself at his own brooding. He wondered why he let Snape pluck that irritated, hot-headed teenager out of his psyche, prodding and poking and eventually ripping thorough Harry's carefully matured hold over his wild temper.

Harry sighed wistfully as he remembered his experiences last year as a fledgling trainee teacher, learning the ropes under the watchful eye of Minerva, and an array of temporary cover teachers in the form of trainee aurors on loan from the ministry. Harry had come to enjoy the company of the majority of the staff body as they were quick to impart helpful advice and assist him with his workload. Minerva and he had had regular meetings in her office, nibbling fudge and sipping tea as she firmly but fairly eyed his marking, his lesson plans, and his performance. He was often rewarded with her barking laugh as he told her of the tales of his first few disastrous lessons, one of which he had managed to get himself stunned by a wayward second years' spell and wedged himself so completely behind an enormous Grindylow tank that the terrified students had been halfway through emptying the tank with saucepans before one of them had thought to notify another member of staff.

Somehow, Harry knew this year would not be anything like the last.

Harry didn't look up as a figure approached, though he sensed the footsteps.

"Hi" the figure spoke, gracefully seating herself next to him as she quickly tucked her lithe legs in. She was wearing light cotton embroidered robes of gentle blue, over a beige skirt, pink t-shirt and flip-flops. Her messy hair had been braided at the back and secured with a small flower. Harry thought she looked relaxed and happy.

"Hey Hermione," Harry smiled "Missing me already? I only saw you last week…"

He received an affectionate shove in response to his teasing, a push which turned in to a half hug as his friend interlinked their arms.

"I popped in to see Minerva," Hermione explained "She had some documents for me…some information regarding some of the new first years."

Harry nodded, understanding. Hermione was now 3 years in to a blossoming career at the Ministry, but instead of using her talents of information consuming and impressive regurgitation, she chose to use her compassion, strength, common sense and deep understanding of family to work for the Department for the Welfare of Magical Children. She had undertaken the role with frightening efficiency after the war, caring for and managing the many battle-effected youngsters. Hermione had played a pivotal role in the re-opening of Hogwarts and the scrutiny of several of its policies regarding the detection of bullying, abuse and the general care of those within its institution. She had risen quickly, and Harry had no doubt that she would soon be leading the Department single-handedly.

"How's Ron? Have you heard from him?" Harry enquired, thinking of his soon-to-be qualified Auror best friend who was currently on assignment somewhere in North Africa and had been for several weeks.

"Yes, I believe he's doing fine- I get updates occasionally." Hermione couldn't quite pull off the casual tone she'd intended, and Harry tightened their arms in response.

"I miss him too," Harry added, still gazing at the water "He'll be back snoring in your ear before long though." he grinned, getting an intended smile out of Hermione.

"So, how does it feel to be back here…? I hear you've been taking counsel from our resident dungeon dweller- how's that working out ?" she asked, innocently.

Harry groaned, letting his head drop in to his newly-freed hands. "It's not been a great success so far," Harry replied "Surprisingly." he added darkly.

"Oh come on Harry," Hermione laughed "He can't be that bad…"

"'Mione, he's a _nightmare,_" Harry implored, gazing at her dejectedly "I've no idea how we're supposed to survive the next school year intact without murdering each other- and I've only had two meetings with him! He refuses to treat me as anything other than the obnoxious pupil he has always presumed me to be, only now he swings between being completely indifferent the one minute and utterly infuriated the next! I never know where I stand with him and I cannot work him out at all…"

"Well," Hermione jumped in before Harry could finish his rant "He is a very complex man who has seen and experienced things I can't even contemplate-"

"I can!" Harry interrupted hotly "I experienced some of them too remember? As did you and Ron. And Snape chose his servitude. I didn't have that luxury." he finished, uncharacteristically bitter. Hermione regarded him shrewdly.

"No-one is detracting from your experience, Harry," Hermione said, her voice gentle "What you did was beyond words, but it just wasn't the same as Professor Snape's."

"Besides which," She continued, after a pause "Comparing your experiences is irrelevant and battling over them won't help either of you now. I know it's tough, but you have got to find a way of working with each other. You owe him your compassion- the compassion that you gladly extend to everyone, it seems, but him. If it is one thing that Severus Snape needs, it is kindness."

"And you think I am ideally placed to give it to him?!" Harry shot back, incredulous

"You would be if you got over yourself!" Hermione snapped before visibly relaxing her shoulders and running a tired hand through her unruly fringe "Look, Harry, it wasn't my intention to start an argument. I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you; Snape is an abrasive character on his best day, but he is a man of honour, a hero, and someone who I do think cares for you on some level. You've been given another chance to set aside your grudges for a common goal. Don't waste the opportunity. Minerva and I believe it could be good for you both."

"Oh, so you've both been conspiring against me then?" Harry asked suspiciously, though his eyes had softened and he was fighting a smile "Interfering women." he grumbled quietly, earning himself another playful pat from Hermione.

An approaching barn owl caught Harry's attention as it swooped lower towards their location, efficiently dropping a letter in to his outstretched hands before flying off. With an uncomfortable shift Harry recognised Snape's distinctive handwriting etched upon the envelope. He opened it slowly, in no rush to discover its' no doubt unpleasant content.

_Potter, _

_Do not presume that as you required dismissing in such a necessary manner yesterday evening that this means you are exempt from the further requested review of your plans. _

_Your presence is required at 8 o'clock tomorrow evening. _

_Do not be late._

_-S.S _

"There you go then!" Hermione exclaimed enthusiastically as she read over his shoulder "That'll be a good opportunity for you both to clear the air."

"I doubt even a nuclear explosion would clear this particular air." Harry mumbled in reply.

"I have to go," Hermione chuckled, kissing Harry affectionately on the cheek before swiftly getting to her feet as she brushed the dust and crumbs of grass from her clothing "Listen to what I've said, and come for dinner soon!" Harry watched her retreating figure aiming for the gates for a moment before pulling his eyes back to the shining lake.

**Thanks for favourites/follows etc. I'd be so very grateful if you could review too- even if it's just a couple of words to tell me what you liked (or didn't). **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

**Thank you thank you thank you to Sailor Sayuri and Almondwithunicornhair for your reviews. They made me smile! **

**This chapter sees a bit more Snape-Harry interaction. I'm not sure where I'll take the story just yet. I'm just sort of going with the flow- I'm not of the opinion that these characters would *realistically* jump in to bed with each other after just a few weeks. I'm not even of the opinion that they would actually like each other, even when given the opportunity, which is why I'm taking it slow so I can get inside the writing/characters a little better and make it seem more authentic.**

**I'm all up for subtle cuteness, gentle intimacy and emotional connection though. I'm aiming for plenty of that…**

Harry had dropped his adjusted plans in to Snape's office at the allocated time a few days before, and was yet to hear anything else. Their brief meeting had been tense, and overwhelmingly silent, neither saying anything to the other as Harry offered his painstaking notes forward, knowing it would soon be torn apart by a ruthless, unforgiving quill spilling sharp criticisms as thinly veiled insults.

The castle was due to be filled with returning students in the next twenty-four hours, and as some of the plans covered content he was due to deliver in various classes in the next couple of weeks, he really did need them back. And soon.

Harry was quite exhausted by it all. Snape, with his behaviour and his influence seemed to colour a large part of his existence within the castle walls; it was almost as if he could feel him, resentment seeping through the unyielding stone. The tiredness made him feel as if he had endured two months amongst the school halls, rather than under two weeks. Sighing inwardly, Harry really was at a loss as to how to make their exchanges even remotely civil, let alone to form any kind of _relationship_. Harry winced at the word he was certain would never apply to them. Apart from anything else, Snape just didn't seem to even want to try.

When Harry returned to his quarters after lunch that day, he noticed a pile of parchment placed neatly in the centre of his rich desk that Harry was sure he had not left there himself. For one thing, he never stacked things that tidily. Crossing the circular room quickly, Harry realised they were his returned lesson plans.

He felt a swoop of anger inflating his insides. Had Snape been in _here_? Was nowhere safe from that incorrigible git's presence?!

Harry noticed a neatly written note pinned to the plans-

_Mr Potter, _

_Before you become indignant with rage at your perceived invasion of privacy, a house-elf was engaged to deliver these to you. _

_Regards, _

_-S.S _

He scowled at the note. For all of Harry's insistence that Snape had never really known him, he certainly had Harry's thought processes pinned down well. The thought made him uncomfortable. Was he really that transparent? Harry read the note again, surprised at the decidedly more polite tone and at what Snape had left unsaid- he had not requested his presence again. Did this mean that the plans had in some way met Snape's unattainable standards? Though, Harry reasoned, he could just be returning them because the time frame for preparation was rapidly disappearing as the summer drew to a close. Perhaps he thought that the current plans were the best Harry would produce…

He sat down to read Snape's comments, feeling vaguely irritated that the man still insisted on Harry submitting and receiving his work in the fashion of a school boy. Though, Harry thought bitterly, he had no idea why he had even entertained the idea that Snape might mentor him as Minerva had; creating an open dialogue where Harry was free to ask questions and explore his reasoning.

Term started, loudly, and once again the halls heaved with busy students honing their magic and their minds. Harry got lost in the barely controlled chaos of his full caseload of classes, spending his evenings adjusting his plans accordingly depending on the outcome of that day's lesson and marking the homework he had set.

His first OWL and NEWT classes had gone much better than expected. Though nervous, he was soon put at ease by the attentive and enthusiastic students who listened dutifully to his explanations before calmly pairing up and trying the spells for themselves. Harry appeared to form an easy alliance with the older pupils who seemed to remember his role in the war and who listened with barely contained curiosity as Harry made brief references to it when discussing defensive spell-work. Rather than treating his younger age as a potential for weakness, the students used it as a way to get to know him, seeming to approach him easily with questions, comments or suggestions.

Harry realised he was enjoying himself very much. That was, until, two weeks in to the term a note arrived for him at breakfast bearing a disappointingly-familiar hand. Harry shook his head and flicked a glance at the Potions Master who was sitting just three seats away from him, stoically ignoring the surrounding students and staff, balancing a black coffee in his long fingers and training a discerning eye over the morning paper. Was speaking to Harry directly really that much of a chore?

_Yes_. Whispered a snide voice in the back of Harry's brain. It was for Snape.

_It is my infinite pleasure to inform you that I am required to observe a lesson delivered by yourself at some point in the coming week to ensure you are meeting the terms of your apprenticeship. I will attend your fourth period combined Ravenclaw and Slytherin OWL class next Thursday morning. I expect a lesson plan prepared for review prior to the class. I will also be collecting your reflective essay on an OWL and NEWT level lesson during this session._

_Ensure you are prepared. _

_Regards,_

_-S.S _

Harry groaned silently, feeling dread pull at his chest. Ensure he was prepared? Prepared for what? The no doubt humiliating and belittling event the session was sure to become with Snape dogging every footstep and judging every sentence? At least when Harry had been his pupil Snape had only had Harry's sympathetic friends and a bunch of idiotic Slytherins to bear witness to his delighted torture. Though the audience would not be much larger, there was much more at stake this time. Harry had no doubt that Snape would find pleasure in breaking down the tentative respect Harry had gained from working with his older students.

He re-read the note and felt himself groaning out loud this time. A reflective essay as well? Harry was in for a delightful week.

Thursday came around at a treacherous speed, and Harry, feeling slightly sick with nerves, skipped breakfast to hide out in the Defence classroom, reading over last minute notes and trying to calm his frayed anxiousness.

The lesson was covering the _Reducto_ spell and Harry was busy aligning pliable, fabric dummies at the side of the room for the students to obliterate in the practical half of the class. It was a simple spell and one students always thought they knew well until asked to perform it with precision, aim, and power. Harry used this session as an opportunity to re-iterate that simple spells, performed well, were often safer and more effective than flashy, complicated spells that took time and an inclination that might leave a witch or wizard at a disadvantage. Harry knew this better than anyone and it was a message he was determined to pass on.

Still, Harry was anxious that Snape should be observing any of his spell-work classes. Why couldn't he have chosen to attend the dark creature coverage Harry was currently teaching the NEWT students? That was mostly theory and there was far less potential for anything to go wrong.

Snape entered the room a full fifteen minutes before the class was due to begin, startling Harry so badly that he dropped the jar of Hinky-Punk food he was about to feed through the bars of a large cage. The jar shattered, spattering the stone floor in brown sludge and skittering glass shards.

"Nervous, Potter?" Snape smirked, as Harry muttered a quick _'Reparo!'_ and cleaning charm.

Harry raised his eyebrows as he stashed his wand inside his robes, meeting Snape's glance for a moment, saying nothing and turning away to wordlessly and wandlessly levitate a few pieces of parchment towards Snape's waiting form. Harry did not miss Snape's look of quiet incredulity at his ability and he smiled inwardly.

"The lesson plan you requested," Harry spoke in a clear voice "And the essay…" He added, as the scrolls settled in Snape's outstretched hand "Anything you'd like to know before we begin?"

"I've not yet lost the ability to read, Potter." Snape sneered in reply, waving the scrolls airily.

Harry nodded, jerkily, determined not to let any snide comments affect his performance today. Snape had acquired a chair and settled in the back corner of the classroom. Half hidden in the shadow cast from an ornate pillar, Harry could almost pretend he wasn't there. Almost.

The class passed with suspicious ease, the pupils unusually subdued and compliant at the unobtrusive yet equally intimidating presence of their most tempestuous teacher, lurking in the gloom behind them.

During the practical part, Snape moved so as better to observe Harry as he recognised mistakes, guided students and prevented inevitable accidents. Harry always felt as if he needed an extra set of eyes in these classes. If it had been any other teacher, he may have asked them to assist him in doing so. As it was, he did not want to take any opportunity to show professional vulnerability to Snape, particularly when he already wielded power over his career like an axe over his head.

Harry was pleased; by the end of the class, almost every student had shown a marked improvement in their ability to cast and aim the spell.

"Homework," Harry called the shuffling students to attention as they gathered their belongings "Please review today's lesson in a foot-long essay, detailing your own understanding of the _Reducto_ spell and its uses, to be submitted next lesson. I also suggest you begin reading the chapter on shield charms, as it will significantly aid your learning for next week." Harry pointedly aimed the last comment at a few of those whom he knew struggled with shield work, and who also had a severe aversion to opening their textbooks outside of lessons "You are dismissed, see you next week." Harry finished, already turning to begin tidying the aftermath.

"Potter, we have some issues to discuss," Snape spoke, and Harry thought he caught menace in his tone "Seven o'clock, my office." floated over a rapidly retreating black figure.

"Wonderful. I can't wait." Harry mumbled in to the silence.

0000

Later that night, Harry strode in to Snape's office with purpose after the door swung open, creaking eerily in the musty stillness of the dungeon air. He settled in front of him, the desk an ever present barrier between them, and eyed Snape speculatively.

"What's the verdict then, Professor?" Harry demanded clearly, maintaining unflinching eye contact, not wanting to wait quietly like a naughty school child to have his punishment delivered.

"The level of discipline you wield over the class leaves a lot to be desired…" Snape stated in a tone that clearly hinted he was only at the beginning of a Biblically-long list.

"How so?" Harry countered, evenly, inclining his head and squashing his anger at the obvious provocation.

"Whilst you were using your gnat-sized attention span to attempt to right Jamestown's pathetic excuse of a charm, you failed to notice that Mulciber, Barefoot and Woodsen were attempting to turn Miss Hayward's hair in to a wasp-infested bush. Luckily for you, I noticed before they succeeded and saved us all from witnessing a painful outburst of female histrionics. I await your decision as to how best to punish them for such an endeavour."

"Well," Harry began, fighting his annoyance with a somewhat super-human level of control "Seeing as you failed to alert me to any of this and resolved it not only without notifying me, but also without addressing the children directly, there isn't a huge amount I can do about it now. I'll most likely discuss it with them next week and dock points accordingly. Is that acceptable to you?" Harry asked, knowing that it probably wasn't to Snape's somewhat vitriolic view of school discipline, and that the perpetrators would most likely be disembowelling a foul creature before long. Harry endeavoured to work a scouring charm somewhere in to the curriculum if he could.

"You wouldn't suggest a detention?" Snape asked, silkily

Harry gritted his teeth "Not at the moment, Professor, for reasons I've already discussed."

"This is _exactly _the kind of leniency that allowed you and your trouble-making associates to drastically endanger the life of yourselves and those around you on more than one occasion!"

Well, he'd walked right in to that one, hadn't he?

"I hardly think attempting to upset your classmate with a few insects would have resulted in three students attempting to fight a wizarding war, Professor. I don't see how the comparison applies." Harry argued, coolly, refusing to rise.

"Ofcourse you don't see it! It's a wonder you can see anything walking around with such a ridiculously inflated head! You seem to think that the same disregard for rules and regulations can now be instilled in those students you now have the power to influence with no thought for the consequences of such actions! You clearly have no grasp of the stress you put the teachers at this school through, trying to keep your sorry hide alive when we had the infinite misfortune of being responsible for your welfare!"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, glad that there were no mirrors in sight to remind him of what an admirable goldfish impression he was achieving.

"I…don't. Just don't." Harry finally said, no longer able to hold Snape's gaze. He felt sick and exhausted. This was such an old argument, such a bitter, worn-out topic. Could they not move past it?

"Don't what, Potter?" Snape spat "Remind you of your pathetic misdemeanours that nearly got you all killed?! Sitting uncomfortably in adulthood now, is it, or are you still so proud of yourself?!"

"_Don't_ wield the fact that you saved my life over me like a weapon! You don't see me extending the same courtesy to you- or have you conveniently forgotten that it was Hermione and I who came back and ensured you survived that battle? I didn't see anyone else queuing up to do it!"

"That's because anyone else would have had the _respect_ to KNOW BETTER Potter!"

Snape was definitely shouting now. Harry had lost sight of how they had got to this point, and he had absolutely no idea how to right it either. He rested his head in his hands, not knowing how to quell this angry rage that slammed in to him, wave after wave of unstoppable fury.

"Only you, with your ridiculous hero-complex related insolence would have the audacity to give life-saving _'help' _where it was craved for the least! And it's the same people as always who are lumbered with the aftermath of your mistakes!"

Harry was reeling with the revelations falling from Snape's lips in a seemingly endless tirade of enmity. Snape was white with fury, on his feet and leaning over the desk, his finger joints pink and straining as he pressed them hard in to the desk surface.

So, Snape _blamed_ Harry for saving his life? He felt the hot lick of anger soar through his insides, but his tiredness at the conflict was wearing him thin, and he was dangerously close to snapping with an emotion he couldn't quite identify. Harry shot up to grab his forgotten plan from the desk, abruptly turned, and stalked away from Snape. He was aware of the risk of turning his back on the man in this state but hoped, in a reckless, bitter, vengeful sort of way, that Snape's 'burden' of protecting Harry now extended in to his adulthood too.

"Where are you GOING Potter?! I don't recall stating that we were finished here!"

Harry took great pleasure in ignoring him, slamming the door, and walking away.

**Ohmygoodness. However are they going to sort this out?! **

**I'm going away for a while so won't be able to update for a bit. I'm sure reviews will help me get back in to the writing mojo when I return though. Do you have any suggestions, anything you'd like to see? **

**The next chapter will see more than just arguing as they begin to figure each other out a little more. Stay tuned!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**I'm sorry about the delay- I've had a mad couple of weeks and haven't had time to devote to this. I'm hoping to give a couple of updates over the next 2 weeks or so. Please bear with me.**

**A massive, enormous, hug filled thank you to all of you who've kindly taken the time to review. I really, genuinely appreciate it and it is a fabulous thing to do to give your opinion. Please continue to let me know what you think. I relish each and every one of them!**

**There's a bit of a discrepancy with this story which I've been waiting to explore. It's 3 years post-war, but Harry's only in his 2nd year of teaching…what happened in the missing year…?**

**We see a slight smidge of all of the walls between these two start to wobble in this chapter. A little, but with great potential. Enjoy! :)**

"_For we are born in other's pain, and perish in our own" – Francis Thompson_

Harry was breathing hard as his directionless feet guided him through the cooling corridors. He could hear his breath being sucked through his lungs, echoing in the quiet this unknown part of the castle offered, as he observed it through unseeing eyes. His mind was blank as he pushed hard against the tirade threatening to overwhelm him.

He didn't notice Minerva until he had almost collided with her. Stopping abruptly at the close figure, Harry snapped his head up in slight alarm.

"Ah, Professor Potter, I've been meaning to…" Minerva paused almost as quickly as she began, frowning "You're looking pale, Harry." she stated, quietly, in his earshot only. And it was with vague surprise that Harry realised they were in the entrance hall, and a few students were looking on, curiously, at their exchange. It was still the middle of the evening, he recalled, the darkening blanket of the Autumnal season now beginning to grip the castle.

"Tea, my office." Minerva directed, leaving Harry little room to object as she steered him, with a brief touch, back toward the corridor he'd just hurried through.

"Is everything alright?" she asked as soon as the door had softly clicked behind them in the familiar, round office. She had dropped her efficient tone, and was now gazing at Harry with open concern.

He wondered what to say.

"Snape." Harry replied shortly, eventually, by way of explanation, waiting for Minerva's annoyance that he had still not managed to overcome their 'difficulty'.

To his surprise, it did not come. Something akin to understanding washed over her usually-stern features.

"I know, Potter," Minerva gave him a small smile "Keep going. It will be worth it."

Harry snorted derisively "Is it worth missing limbs? Because I'm relatively certain that is what I'll end up with if I return to him any time soon…"

Harry flopped in to the chair, feeling dejected, and gratefully accepted the offered cup of tea from the conjured, hovering tray to his left.

"He blames me." he added, miserably, staring in to the spinning golden liquid as he stirred it.

"For what?" Minerva asked, eyeing him intensively over her own cup and saucer.

"For ensuring he survived the war," Harry replied, bitterly "How could…how could he even _contemplate_ that I would leave him, after everything I'd seen that year, after everything he'd _shown_ me? How could he have expected any of us just to walk away? It's just…" he blustered, feeling sickened, and suddenly wordless.

"Complex?" Minerva supplied, helpfully "Bewildering? Confusing?"

"I was going for selfish, but those too." Harry groused.

"Yes," Minerva reasoned "Severus does appear as if he is self-centredness personified, but I know better, Harry." she paused, peering at him.

"As do you." She added.

Harry sighed in response, still glaring at his tea, though a tinge of sadness now slithered in to his eyes.

"I don't think Severus ever planned on surviving the final battle, you know," Minerva began again, thoughtfully "To have that last piece of control over his life when it had been bound to others for so long must have been liberating for him, and then to have his choices removed by none other than you, well, that must have been a bitter pill to swallow."

"Look, it's not as if he left a note explaining his wishes or anything!" Harry said, defensively "I…none of us could witness any more death that day, let alone actively allow it to happen."

"I know, Harry, I know," she soothed "I daresay I would not have allowed it either, had I been in that situation. It seems a curious twist in the story that it was you who found him, you who came back for him. Or perhaps it was not curious at all…"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and smiled gently at her, this oldest of trusted friends and mentors "You're becoming superstitious in your old age, I think. That, or you've been spending too much time with him." Harry nodded towards Dumbledore, who was feigning a very convincing snooze against the edge of his portrait.

"Perhaps." Minerva agreed, flashing him a rare, true smile.

"Remember, Harry, that courage does not always roar. Sometimes it is the quiet voice that whispers 'try again tomorrow'."

Harry nodded, unconvinced, but feeling much better anyway.

"I'd better go," Harry stated as he got to his feet "Thanks for the tea." _and the back-handed sympathy _his mind supplied, though not unkindly "Goodnight."

Minerva smiled in reply as Harry threw a vague wave over his shoulder.

Harry was so lost in thought as he unconsciously began to trace the familiar route back to his quarters, that he almost didn't notice the frightened-looking first-year students scuttling toward him.

"Jacob, Richard…why do you look as if you have seen a ghost?" Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously "Is it a ghost? I know Peeves was causing trouble earlier…" Harry gestured in the general vicinity of the floor they were on but stopped when the pale-faced pupils vigorously shook their heads in tandem.

"Not a ghost sir…at least we don't think so anyway. We were leaving detention and got a bit lost in the dungeons and ended up somewhere we've never been before…then we heard banging and smashing and shouting as if it were coming from inside the walls, and we ran up here…" Jacob rambled, nibbling on his lip nervously.

"With whom were you serving your detention?" Harry enquired

"Uh…Professor Snape, Sir," Jacob shifted guiltily "We were supposed to finish at nine but we waited for forty minutes and he didn't come back, and we'd finished the cauldrons. We didn't want to miss curfew so we…um…left a note, we didn't know what else to do!" Jacob added, his voice sliding up an octave as his anxiety levels began to peak.

"It's ok, Jacob, I will speak to Professor Snape for you, and check on the disturbance too. Go on back to your dormitories. Goodnight."

The boys nodded, gratefully hurrying away, and Harry continued on in to the descending dungeon gloom which he had originally not planned on returning to for a while at least. He almost smiled to himself as he remembered that investigating disembodied voices in castle walls had never led him to anything pleasant in the past.

Harry's ears pricked as he heard a distinct, but faint, tinkling sound coming from a seemingly-smooth stretch of wall. He knew there were no classrooms in this, the deepest and furthest part of the dungeons.

Harry wondered as he slipped his palms over the stone, feeling the cool damp spread across his skin. He suddenly felt the brief hum of magic whisper over his senses, and knew he'd found a ward. A plan formed in his mind and, buoyed as he was by experience, instinct and Minerva's recent encouragement Harry murmured the words, only vaguely surprised when a heavy wooden door appeared slightly to his right.

The door was relatively unremarkable, though obviously heavy and well-made. It was characterised by an ornate stone carving which hung over the door in a semi-archway, a tell-tale, menacing, intricate serpent encasing the entrance to a well-hidden lair.

With no small amount of trepidation, Harry rapped his knuckles against the hard wood, the sound slapping across the echoing dungeons like a gun-shot in the silence.

Predictably, there was no answer. Inhaling a steadying breath, and bracing himself against the obstruction, and the secrets beyond, he un-latched the heavy metal handle and pushed the door open.

He had to blink twice to ensure the surreal scene before him was not, in fact, just a hallucination.

Snape was clinging to a heavy wooden desk in the corner of what was apparently his living room, in the process of shakily righting himself, seemingly from a fall. There was shattered, glittering glass expanding outwards from Snape, across the floor and the majority of the surfaces in the vicinity.

Once he'd recovered from the sight, his eyes raked over Snape, a horribly familiar anxiety sweeping through his being at the realisation that there was an alarming redness seeping through Snape's white shirt.

Without thinking, Harry crossed quickly towards Snape, sickening cracks crunching underfoot at his approach.

It was then that two things occurred to Harry- that suddenly, two dark orbs were slowly losing their bleary-unfocused air to stare at him with open malice, and that the smell of a well-functioning distillery were assaulting his senses as he edged forward.

Snape was blind drunk. And furious.

"Potter!" He spat, ugly venom lacing his words "How did you get in _here_?!"

"Emergency staff access." Harry frowned. He had been expecting a violent hex, not a question.

"That is meant for EMERGENCIES Potter!" Snape was gripping the desk, hard, trying not to sway and mostly failing. Harry was slightly impressed that he was able to string a coherent sentence together, given the man's current state. Though Harry also realised, with a nauseating prickle, that the swaying may not just be alcohol related.

"This looks pretty emergent to me." Harry gestured at the still-extending bleeding that was now splashing on to the stone floor in places "You need help…the hospital wi…"

"I most certainly do not!" Snape was looking unfocused again. Harry wondered how long it would be before the stubborn man was no longer on his feet.

"I beg to differ," Harry replied, coolly, with a calmness that didn't really extend to his emotions "Either way you will accept help, I would just prefer it if I didn't have to wait until you'd collapsed from excessive blood loss."

"I'm not going to the hospital wing."

"Fine," Harry replied, shortly, annoyance beginning to slide alongside his anxiety. Why was he so _infuriating_ "I will floo-call Poppy." Harry turned towards the imposing marble fireplace, wondering only briefly where Snape's wand was and if turning his back on him was really a wise decision.

"You will do no such thing!" Snape snapped

"For goodness _sake!" _Harry shouted, rounding on Snape as his temper surged "If you will not accept assistance from outside-" Harry waved his wand and Snape was suddenly knocked off his feet as he was swept in to the air. Harry stoically ignored the urge to laugh at the sudden alarm sweeping the man's features "Then you are stuck here with me." he waved his wand again and Snape landed with a soft 'thunk' on the plush emerald sofa facing the fireplace, and a thoroughly irritated Harry.

"I do not need…"

"I disagree." Harry cut him off, as he silently caught Snape's wand as it soared through the air.

"You disarmed me?" Snape looked vaguely impressed, but mostly vexed as he gazed at Harry with vicious eyes.

"It is necessary." Harry replied, simply, still deciding how best to proceed in this most unexpected of situations.

"I can rectify this myself," Snape tried to gesture dismissively but failed as the movement obviously resulted in the painful twinge of an injury "I have more skill than a just-post-adolescent former student who barely completed a year of Medi-Wizard training." he continued through gritted teeth.

"Not under the influence of two…no…three?" Harry's eyes widened as he counted "…bottles of firewhiskey you don't."

"Only one of them was full." Snape countered, refusing to look at him.

Harry said nothing, rolling his eyes internally.

"Emmy?" Harry called, clearly, in to the awkward silence

A resounding, answering crack pierced the quiet as a house elf appeared. Harry felt a small pull of satisfaction as Snape winced at the intrusive noise.

"Professor Potter called?" the high-pitched squeak replied.

"Good evening, Emmy, would you be kind enough to fetch my kit please? The one in the black bag."

"Ofcourse Sir!" the elf disappeared and re-apparated almost instantaneously, carrying a large holdall that was bigger than she was. Harry received it gratefully and efficiently began to rifle through the contents, lost in thought.

"Are the Professors requiring anything else from Emmy?" The elf asked, politely

"No thank you Emmy, I'm grateful for your assistance. Goodnight."

"Goodnight sirs." she disappeared, leaving them alone.

Harry levitated the low coffee table closer to Snape and began to set out his supplies. Snape feigned disinterest as he did so.

"I'm going to need to see that to assess the damage fully." Harry nodded towards Snape's torso as he came to sit beside him.

Snape glared at him for a long moment, and then undid the buttons with surprisingly steady, agile fingers. It did not escape Harry's notice that the motion had revealed a slim but defined, smooth, though alarmingly glass-peppered chest, had caused the man's sinewy, strong forearms to ripple with the action. Harry was aware that he had never seen his former Professor out of his usual black attire, let alone 'dressed-down' in a white roll-sleeved shirt and soft, dark, linen trousers. Harry presumed these to be a Snape-like equivalent of lounge clothes. It unsettled him somewhat.

He tried not to suck in a breath as he took in the injuries- at least ten visible embedded shards of glass, two sickeningly large ones near the man's left hip and jutting out of his right side.

"Drink these please." Harry instructed, holding out two phials of an unlabelled potion

"I think not, Potter. What makes you think I'll be ingesting anything your incapable self has brewed?" Snape sneered

"They're your potions," Harry replied impatiently "I've just summoned them from your private stores." Harry smirked as Snape began to look rather indignant "You can lecture me later." Harry said quickly, aiming to divert the coming rant "There are pressing matters to attend too…" he added, pointedly gesturing towards the wounds which still continued to ooze stubbornly.

Snape uncorked them both and swallowed them efficiently.

"A calming draught and a sober-up potion? My Potter. You really do want me compliant don't you?"

"It would be helpful, Professor." Harry replied, a small smile on his lips as he waved his wand gently over Snape's lower abdomen, beginning his magical internal assessment "I considered an _immobulus _but decided I rather like my limbs and didn't want you cursing them off the moment I removed the charm."

"Wise decision Potter, something I'd never think you capable of." Snape snorted softly in reply, resting his head against the sofa as the draught took effect.

Harry repaired the internal damage first, stemming the small bleeds which, though not fatal, could have caused issues if left. Finally, he could put it off no longer- the foreign objects needed to come out.

"Professor, these have got to be removed." Harry began, slightly anxiously

"Obviously, Potter. I hardly wish to carry them around as a memento to this delightful evening for the rest of my existence." came the sharp reply

"I can't remove them with magic- I, er, didn't get as far as that module and though I know the theory, I'm not willing to test it." he resisted the urge to squirm guiltily.

Snape glared, maliciously, but gave no indication as to whether he could continue.

"I could always get Poppy…" Harry suggested, quietly. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Get on with it then." He said, eventually, sounding resigned.

Harry began by extracting the two largest shards using his hands, ignoring Snape's slight intakes of breath and the rigid set of his profile. He never made a sound, though Harry knew it must have been excruciating by the thin veil of sweat now sheening over Snape's skin and the clouded, far-away look in his eyes. He continued the rest with small tweezers and forceps, working them free, healing the wound with his wand, and dropping the glass with a rhythmic 'plink' in to the metal dish at his side.

"I'm sorry." Harry murmured gently as he slid the last, slim but deadly sharp sliver out of Snape's skin.

Snape visibly relaxed and Harry inspected his work. The injuries were still evident; pink, puckered, shiny skin in which the magic would work from inside-out to heal, but there was no more bleeding. The areas traversed, Harry realised, older, bolder, previously deeper scars that settled there, white and purple in their memory. Echoes of a life Harry had only really began to understand recently.

"I just need to check this one," Harry moved his index finger a few inches above Snape's left hip, to indicate where one of the larger shards had been "Check the scar tissue underneath, I mean, sometimes adhesions can cause problems in this area, the piece embedded near your bowel. May I?"

Snape nodded, tensing only slightly when Harry's fingertips gently indented the tender skin, pressing to feel the tissue underneath.

The far edge of the wound disappeared under the edge of Snape's trousers, and Harry really did need to feel the edges to be thorough…

"Uh, can you…?" Harry gestured "I need to feel underneath. Sorry." Harry mumbled, wondering why he felt so awkward all of a sudden when he had done such things numerous times on the wards of the hospital without even a prickle of discomfort. Whilst Harry had been able to work the glass free easily and slip it out from under the clothing without having to lower the trousers, he knew he would not be so lucky now.

Snape complied silently, quickly undoing the button, releasing the tension of the waistband. Raising his hips slightly off the sofa, he tugged on the material to bring them down a couple of centimetres, revealing more of the long, recently-healed scar and the hollow of his slim hip.

The action had been a fraction of a second, done quietly, efficiently, yet it had caused Harry's stomach to flip over. He swallowed as he realised Snape was gazing at him rather expectantly, an unreadable expression in his liquid eyes.

Gently, Harry replaced his fingers, which retained the warmth of work and movement and Snape's skin, sliding them under the edge of the waistband to investigate the edge of the wound. Harry found it a centimetre or so down, and he cautiously felt around it, swallowing again when he needed to slip the edge of two fingers inside another waistband. Another waistband that he knew to be Snape's underwear. He felt the strong core abdominal muscles under his fingers shift slightly.

Harry was content that there was no damage within seconds, and he withdrew as quickly and gently as he could, reluctant to raise his eyes to assess Snape's face as he did so.

That had been so uncomfortably intimate, particularly given that they'd been shouting at each other, hating each other, so utterly just a few hours before. Why hadn't Snape _said_ anything? It was unlike him to be so quiet, to miss an opportunity to humiliate Harry. The man was incredibly perceptive and Harry knew his discomfort would not have gone unnoticed.

Harry tidied quickly, still not looking at Snape. He spoke, willing his voice to be steady.

"Please let me know if you feel anything other than residual soreness…take these…" he placed a blood-replenishing and pain-relieving potion on the table "And apply this," he placed a jar of pink balm next to the phials "Before bed. I'll need to check the wounds tomorrow. I'll come by in the morning."

When Snape opened his mouth to protest Harry finally met Snape's eyes and levelled his best, firm gaze at the man in front of him "It's me or Poppy Pomfrey, who will no doubt be delighted to know how you came by those injuries. Your choice." the man scowled and Harry almost smiled at the defeat.

"Also, I encountered your two detentionees on the way down here, they'd apparently been forgotten and were rather alarmed by the disturbance you'd created. I gave them permission to return to their dormitories."

"Frankly, I'm astounded _you_ have not grilled me on how I sustained these wounds." Snape replied, ignoring his mention of the pupils.

"I'm not as interested in that as I am in _why_ you got them." Harry replied, congratulating himself on extending the olive branch Minerva and Hermione had been desperate for him to try. Harry hoped that it wasn't a sharp one though, as he was fairly sure he was about to get whacked with it.

"Don't worry Potter, you won't come down here to find me swinging from the Chandelier." Snape said, rather conversationally.

Harry felt sick. He closed his eyes against the sudden image, pausing in re-packing the now-clean metal instruments.

"Please…just, don't," Harry whispered "I…I couldn't have walked away, you know, even if I'd have known that you wanted me to. Not after…everything."

"I know, Potter." Harry's eyes snapped open at the softest tone he'd ever heard coming from his former Professor. He watched Snape intently, wishing he could understand the depths of this man. Harry considered himself mildly skilled at reading people, and he was relatively sure, though not certain, that Snape's features were tinged with regret, remorse even, but for which complex memory Harry could only begin to guess at.

He nodded in response, turning to leave, knowing he would not get a thank you, or an apology, but not really caring either.

Harry remembered something almost as he reached the door.

"Professor?" he directed, holding up the glass container of a final potion "I'll leave this for you too. I recommend using it tonight."

Snape nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes following Harry's hand as he placed it on a small table by the stone archway.

"At night…" Snape began, continuing to gaze at the phial of Dreamless Sleep.

Harry understood "The demons come…" he finished, leaving the words in the air, not waiting for a response, an odd feeling in his chest as he was engulfed by the claustrophobic darkness of the dungeon hallway.

**Review? Please? Thank you! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

**Oh man…I'm so sorry for the major break in this story…I've been mega busy, and ill, and a multitude of other things too. Anyway, here's the next instalment. As ever, please let me know what you think. **

**A bit of a filler chapter without much going on to move the story, but a necessary one.**

**I'm working hard to make it realistic and enjoying the challenge, but also loving getting lost in my own version of events. There's something fabulous about writing, don't you think? Our own kind of magic. **

Harry arrived early the following morning to check Snape's injuries, knocking politely and quietly before being permitted a reluctantly slow entry to the chamber beyond. Snape looked exhausted, unwell and non-too pleased to see his former pupil. Harry instructed Snape to relax in to the couch whilst he knelt beside him, knees pressing in to the thick rug that covered the stone floor.

Harry tried to ignore his nervousness at Snape's proximity, though it caused his fingers to feel clunky and awkward as he shakily took out the shrunken kit from his pocket and returned it to normal size. Taking a deep yet silent inward breath, he dredged up the remnants of his brief brush with professional medical care and pasted it on his face, trying to appear cool and efficient when faced with his semi-naked former-Professor.

Snape's wounds were much improved, though the incision resting on his hip had a small yet definite swelling beneath the shining, rosy scar. Up until that point Snape had endured Harry's presence and examination with an unhappy yet stoic expression, barely murmuring or grunting when Harry asked him a question. Now however, as Harry felt around the anomaly, he felt him tense underneath his hands, eyelids fluttering closed and chest expanding with a calming intake of breath.

"Painful?" Harry asked apologetically, not daring to look up from his touching which had been decidedly low for the past couple of minutes.

Harry saw Snape nod a fraction, reluctantly, at the periphery of his vision.

Harry frowned. It shouldn't be, at this point in the healing process.

"I'd like you to apply this-" Harry placed the more of the pink bruise balm on the small coffee table behind him "And take these, twice daily for the next 3 days. It'll need a review then." he indicated several phials of green, shimmering liquid he'd just placed next to the bruise balm.

Predictably, Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously "And where have you acquired those from?" he asked, eyeing the containers with distaste "I certainly have not created a batch of internal haematoma elixir lately."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes "A former colleague at St. Mungo's." he replied "A fully _qualified_ colleague." he added, noting Snape's sneer "And if you're considering brewing your own just to be stubborn, as your caregiver I'd have to strongly advise against it. Bending over a cauldron for hours may well irritate the tissue further. Ideally you need to stay off your feet."

"And how do you propose I do that?" Snape snapped "I realise you haven't been in my classroom since I had the misfortune of attempting to make more than a basic concept of potions stick in your ridiculous brain, but I have the repeated daily pleasure of trying to ensure that twenty children at a time don't blow up the school through several torturous two hour sessions. Staying 'off my feet' is not an option."

Harry thought for a moment, feeling on edge as he met Snape's eyes, already hard with ridicule. "I have three free periods today- my NEWT students have an apparition lesson. I can help in your classes, if you'd like?"

Snape's lip curled upwards, a characteristic sneer shadowing his features "That, Potter, is not something you should be recommending to me as my 'caregiver'. Having your incompetent self in my classroom was never safe, effective or _helpful _in any way shape or form. Unless you are trying to tell me you have somehow developed an aptitude for Potions alongside your mediocre healing skills?"

He felt the heat of shame and anger oozing along his cheeks, and fought hard against it.

"Forget it," Harry huffed out through gritted teeth "It was merely a suggestion. Forgive me for offering to help a colleague out. It's not a mistake I'll be making again."

He quickly gathered his supplies and exited the room, mentally chastising himself for the juvenile yet satisfying door slam he had indulged in on the way out.

He was frustrated, angry, belittled and, he hated to admit it, slightly hurt. Over Snape. _Again_. What was wrong with him? Why was he bothered? Why had he even tried to help the ungrateful git of a hermit? Why did he keep going back?

0000

The next couple of days passed quickly, though Harry's frustration with Snape began to morph in to anxiety when he noted the absence of his scowl throughout them. Harry repeatedly reminded himself that Snape was a fully grown adult, and as such was quite capable of accessing medical aid if it was needed. Still, a part of him prickled over it, as he sat staring at the empty chair at the staff table on a grey, bitter, relentless Friday.

Harry lay awake that night, his heavy, restless body agitated and out-of-sorts. Finally, frustrated, he pulled himself from his snake-bed of rumpled sheets somewhere around four in the morning. Applying woolly socks and slippers over his icy toes, he slipped out of his quarters wearing a warm, silk-lined dressing gown over his favourite chequered blue pyjama bottoms.

Tucking his arms around himself, Harry wandered the draughty corridors, barely marvelling at how his feet seemed to know innately where his sore, turbulent insides needed to be.

He found himself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, the rubber soles of his slippers scuffing along the rough platform as he approached the low, walled edge. The wind whipped through the icy air, causing him to huff and wince against the unwelcome glacial intrusion. It cleared his head, however, and he stood gazing in to the obscure, moonless night.

He remembered. The distant, dim echoes of a raging battle. The final look of a dying Headmaster. The dramatic, surreal, excruciating fall of a loved, legendary Wizard. And the pale, schooled features of the incredible, dour, complex man who had caused it, though not orchestrated it. Who had carried it out, but had not chosen to. Even though Harry understood Snape's actions, could place them in the wider concept of the overall plan, the bigger picture of a world at war, he could still not grasp how he had managed to do it. How he had looked that wise, twinkling man in the face, and murdered him with a flick of the wrist and a practiced intent.

Harry mused over Snape, in the quiet, isolated calm of an early dawn. Did he fear him? No, not any more. He wondered if he ever had. Did he trust him? Harry wasn't overly sure of that one, either. He had trusted the man's intent, his goals, his loyalty, when the battle was done. He trusted his skill, his professionalism, his bravery. As a person, though, Snape was difficult to predict at best, vaguely unhinged at worst. Prickly, intricate, obstinate. Difficult. Unsympathetic and unyielding.

Yet Harry found, with a rush of emotion he couldn't quite identify, that he wanted to trust Snape. That he wanted to understand him, or the small part he might be, someday, permitted to see.

Though Harry was under no illusions that Snape's situation with those around him was a reality of his own making, he couldn't help but note that Snape, despite working in a busy institution serving two powerful masters for the majority of his life, appeared to be utterly alone. With his scars, with his grief, with his demons.

But then he snorted in disbelief at his own childish naivety. His 'hero' complex rearing its head again. Searching for someone to save. Hadn't this tendency already damaged whatever tentative tendrils of a relationship that may have existed between the two of them?

The issue was that Snape simply didn't want it. Any of it- and certainly not from Harry.

Harry sighed. Hunting Horcruxes seemed an absolute breeze compared to befriending Severus Snape.

It was a good job Harry was so partial to nigh-impossible challenges.

Eventually, Harry had finally slept for a few hours, dozing in the watery sunlight oozing through his window.

0000

Mid-morning on Saturday, Harry dutifully pulled himself from his bed, deciding, somewhat stubbornly, that he _would_ be providing the required follow-up on his favourite mentor's injured abdomen, whether he was pleased to see him or not.

Snape looked momentarily surprised to see Harry at his door, though he covered it quickly, replacing it with a small smirk.

"Potter. I'd rather hoped you wouldn't be bothering with me again. Clearly I was mistaken." Snape said, his voice bored but not completely obscuring the slight incredulity lacing through it.

"I had a change of heart. Are you going to let me in or not?" Harry replied, grumpily, feeling the ache of his night of poor sleep beginning to pulse in his right temple.

Snape regarded him for a long, uncomfortable moment, but let him pass eventually.

This time, Harry was deliberately gentle when examining the area, which was barely more than a fading line now. He brushed his fingertips over the soft skin, strangely fascinated by the goosebumps that rose under his touch on the ivory flesh as he swept upwards with the pad of his fore and middle finger towards Snape's bare hip. He was pleased to note that the knotted, bruised tissue had reduced significantly and did not seem to be spreading or worsening.

Harry looked up, suddenly realising that Snape was regarding him intently.

Harry had not realised several of his fingertips had come to rest across the healed cut until cool, soft fingers grazed across his as Snape made to re-fasten his open trousers. Harry blushed, snapping his hand back and dropping his eyes.

"So, what's the verdict, Dr Potter?" Harry looked up in time to see a small pulling at the corner of Snape's mouth, as if he were hiding a smile.

Harry cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably "Um, it's improved, actually." Harry struggled to make a coherent thought. He wondered, not for the first time, what the hell was the matter with him

"Any pain?" he asked, clearer this time.

"No. Do stop fussing Potter, it's fine." Snape returned, dismissively, but Harry hoped he was not imagining the uncharacteristic softer edge to the comment there.

Snape sat up, re-buttoning his shirt swiftly. He narrowed his eyes at Harry "You look dreadful Potter. Something keeping you up all night?"

Harry tried to fight the embarrassment he felt at realising that it was the man in front of him whom he had devoted some serious contemplating to last night.

Eventually, he settled on indignation "Oh, charming," He scowled at him "Considering I've just dragged myself down here on a weekend because you're too obstinate to let anyone else help you." Harry made to leave, bending to lift his heavy kit from the cool floor.

"Potter, have you eaten?" Came the surprising question from the vague vicinity of the sofa.

Harry looked up in mild alarm, thinking his lack of sleep had resulted in some sort of auditory hallucination.

"Pardon?"

"Do mornings render you deaf as well as ill-tempered? I asked if you'd eaten."

"No, I haven't. I slept through breakfast. Why?"

"Sit." Snape had stood, and was now indicating the dark wood table and chairs that dominated a large part of the room, where cutlery, a glass and a morning _Daily Prophet _were settling themselves down in an arranged format before his eyes.

"Um." Harry thought for a moment, feeling indescribably awkward. Snape was being distinctly un-Snape-like and it was vaguely unsettling. Having said that, he really was starving.

"Alright." he conceded, hoping that there were no nasty surprises coming, but knowing somehow that that was not what this was all about. He slid in to the place Snape had set as he turned to enter the kitchen. He heard cupboards shutting and the clink of china before a house elf appeared with a startling pop to his left, bearing an obscenely large breakfast tray laden with food items. He was glad of the distraction. Witnessing Snape in such a domestic role as he swiftly and efficiently made a large pot of tea and coffee was bothering him in more ways than he could explain.

What followed was perhaps one of the most tense meals Harry had ever been involved in. He had buried himself in the newspaper as a distraction, trying but mostly failing to ignore the calculating stare of the Professor opposite, who was openly and unashamedly watching Harry over the top of his steaming coffee cup.

Finally, Harry let the paper fall to the highly polished table with a tender 'thunk' and raised his eyes to meet Snape's.

"Is there something you want to ask? You've been staring at me for the last fifteen minutes." he said, to break the silence. Though Harry knew if Snape had wanted to speak to him, he would have done so already.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Snape asked, that small smile threatening his mouth again.

"What sort of question is that?" Harry asked, vaguely annoyed. He had the distinct impression Snape was enjoying watching him squirm. Harry's practiced, underlying tension around Snape threatened to overwhelm him. Such unusual behaviour from someone whom he could always count on to personify dislike and enmity was, to put it lightly, freaking him out. "People aren't usually glared at whilst they're eating you know. Some would even call it rude." he said, aware that he sounded every bit as grouchy as Snape had pointed out.

Snape spoke softly after a long moment "I'm wondering, Potter, why you decided to grace me with your presence again outside our mentor-mentee schedule? Particularly given your display of deliberately informing me I was never to receive any help from you again."

How was he supposed to answer that? _'Because I want to be your 'friend'?' _lame._ 'I didn't want to leave you alone?' _creepy _'I felt I had to?' _definitely not.

"I'm not sure," He finally answered, not meeting Snape's eyes "Why do you need to know?"

Snape was quiet for a long while, making Harry wonder if he'd actually made himself heard.

"I don't." came the eventual, muted reply, before a business-like tone returned: "7 o'clock Potter, next Friday, my office. Bring your plans for the rest of the winter term."

Harry nodded "Thanks for breakfast, by the way." he aimed at Snape, who had begun to gather a pile of papers from a shelf behind the table. He did not receive an acknowledgement.

As Harry reached for the large iron door handle, a voice bearing a light coating of amusement reached his ears "Oh, and Potter? Bring a bottle. We'll be looking at your work together. I have no doubt I'll need it."

Harry grinned to himself as he left the room, shaking his head at the bizarre turn of events. He felt as if something had shifted, only slightly, only allowing a sliver of something else in, but he was relatively sure that the alteration was permanent. He was surprised to find that he hoped that it was.

**Review please..? Ta x**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **

**Thanks to all of those who've reviewed. I really appreciate each and every one of you taking the time to tell me what you think- it's a fabulous thing to do. As a writer I now realise how much reviews really mean (after being a read and run kind of girl, shamefully, for most of my life!) I'm a review junkie- please help me get my fix! **

**Here's the next chapter-I hope you enjoy sticking with the story. **

"_Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn. My God do you learn" – CS Lewis _

Harry found himself outside Snape's office door much quicker than he could keep pace with the following week. The past few days had whipped past him in a colourful haze of bright busy-ness, as he attempted, day after day, to educate an interesting mix of wayward, bored, loud and over-enthusiastic children. He was exhausted.

He had noticed that Snape was no longer ignoring his existence quite as thoroughly as he did before. It was no more than a brief eye contact, a stunted nod, a brief turn towards him to acknowledge a greeting. Harry rejoiced in it, this smallest of triumphs, though he wondered if it would ever be more than this. If their history would ever allow them to overcome that most enduring of barriers. Above all else, he was immensely glad for the reprieve in the difficult, insulting behaviour. Not carrying around the heavy, obstructive brick of dread whenever he considered his required contact with the man was a welcome, lighter change.

Despite this new-found truce, standing in front of the familiar office door still caused a well-explored feeling of anxiety to tighten his chest. He felt as though he were on an unstable precipice, one wrong utterance, one misplaced breath, and everything would fall. Harry took a deep breath, using his somewhat rusty and embarrassingly basic Occlumency skills to calm himself and veil his rugged emotions. He clutched the bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand a little tighter, and raised his first to the wood, ready to knock. The door, however, surprised him by opening before he had the chance to, swinging backwards as if anticipating his move. He felt the wards expand outwards to allow him through, much easier than ever before. Had Snape keyed the wards to his magical signature? Before he had time to mull over that one, he was standing in the office, Snape beckoned him forward with a small raise of his hand, closing the door with his soundless power and nodding approvingly at the bottle in Harry's hands.

Snape was dressed in his usual black, though his constrictive black under-robe shirt usually fastened with more buttons than Harry thought strictly necessary was missing tonight. Harry swallowed slightly as he realised that white shirt was peeking out from under his over-bearing, loose top robes, the first few buttons undone. His hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck with a leather tie, and Harry realised that far from being its usual greasy self, it was actually damp. He could smell the faint aroma of soap in the air, and Harry resisted the urge to chuckle as he made a mental note to inform Ron that it appeared Snape did actually shower, on occasion.

Harry suddenly felt a bit self-conscious in his worn muggle jeans and long-sleeved, steel blue top that was unbuttoned at the neck. He always felt constricted and uncomfortable in his teaching robes, and enjoyed throwing them off at the end of the day. He was reluctant to get back in them simply for a meeting, especially when he was not on-duty tonight, and he had not done so at all last year with Minerva. But he suddenly wondered if Snape expected it, and if he'd judge him for their absence.

If Snape disapproved, when he swept his eyes over Harry's waiting form, he did not comment, and instead invited Harry with a nod to take the seat in front of his desk.

Harry placed the bottle on the desk where Snape swiftly rose to collect two glasses from a cabinet opposite, pouring two generous-sized helpings for each of them. Harry took the offered glass, feeling wrong-footed by the brief touch of their fingers, his clammy digits stuttering over Snape's cool, smooth grip. To distract himself, Harry reached in to his bag to collect the folder that held his lesson plans, and began to leaf through them, searching for a query he knew he'd wanted to ask but unable to clear his foggy brain enough to verbalise it at the moment.

He raised his eyes, when he felt calm enough, and realised Snape had been watching him, that same, strange, contemplative look in those wary, dark depths. Harry looked at him a while, the intensity beginning to make him burn as he struggled to maintain the contact. It was as if Snape was trying to decipher something, though Harry wondered what. If Snape was using Legilimency (and Harry vaguely hoped that he would feel that, if it were happening) he wasn't sure what he would find. Harry's own brain was a mystery to him most of the time.

"Is there anything you'd like to discuss, Potter?" Snape asked, his voice low, that clipped, measured control Harry often heard now firmly in place.

"About my plans, er, no, I feel alright over those, though I don't mind if you'd like to review them." Harry made to hand them across the space, but Snape waved him to the side. He dropped them abruptly to look at his notes.

"Though, there is one thing…wait," He trailed off, suddenly realising his plans had been ignored "Aren't you going to look at those?"

"It is not necessary." Snape replied, smoothly.

"Excuse me?" Harry replied, incredulously "You've pulled apart every bit of work I've done this term and now you, what, can't be bothered?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape returned, a sharp edge creeping in over his composure "If you were half as good at reading between the lines as you are at jumping to conclusions you would not miss so much. It is one of the things that makes you such a lousy Occlumens. I do not need to see your plans because I have concluded that your ability to record your teaching intent is sufficient. Please continue with whatever you were about to ask before your righteous Gryffindor indignation took temporary hold of your sanity." Harry could tell that he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Or slap him.

"Was there a compliment in there?" Harry gave a gentle smile, tinged with smugness, before he rose to walk towards the small sliver of glass in the wall, charmed to reflect the scenery outside, and made a show of leaning out, as if staring upwards in wonder.

"What _are_ you doing?" Snape asked, clearly annoyed.

"Checking to see if the sky is falling." He gave Snape a grin, knowing it was a risk, but enjoying teasing the stoic man very much.

"Don't push it Potter." Snape replied, eyebrows raised, though his tone had settled to a light chagrin "If I'd have known a few mouthfuls of Firewhiskey would have you channelling the Weasley twins I would have spiked it with a calming draught so we could have a rational conversation. Kindly sit so we can continue."

Harry obliged, keeping his expression as innocent as possible.

"You were saying…." Snape prodded, impatiently, when Harry didn't continue the conversation.

"Well, my practical sessions are often challenging, especially with the lower years, and particularly my rowdy third-years. I don't suppose there's a potion for giving you extra pairs of eyes, are there?" Harry asked, feeling his exasperation rising as he remembered just how draining yesterday's lesson had been.

"Not unless you Polyjuice yourself in to a spider," Snape replied, wryly "And as I'm sure you remember, such actions are definitely not recommended. Though I've no doubt appearing as human-sized arachnid would give you marginally better control over your classes. After the initial hysterics, ofcourse."

Harry laughed, and Snape looked at him oddly, as if he'd startled him.

"Most of al,l" Snape continued "You need to know your group; know what'll make them listen, what'll make them stop. Know who will work well together, and who will, without doubt, cause disaster if forced to work alongside another. Never put those of weaker abilities together, always place them with those who demonstrate stronger skills, and be vigilant, constantly assess what each group are doing, never be complacent, even with senior students, and anticipate their moves before they do."

"All at the same time?" Harry asked, somewhat dumbfounded "Sounds like a piece of cake." he continued, rolling his eyes.

"I'm glad you finally have an appreciation of just what I've had to endure for nearly two decades, particularly from a certain bunch of ill-mixed Gryffindor and Slytherin nightmares." Snape smirked, sipping his whiskey in an unnecessarily smug manner.

"You knew Malfoy and I were a recipe for a meltdown, yet you forced us together on more than one occasion," he threw at Snape, scowling "How was that 'good management' or is there something I'm missing here?"

"It had a purpose." Snape countered, calmly, glass in one hand and the other resting gently on the desk, his eyes drilling silently in to Harry's own.

"What, to inflict as much misery on me as possible?" They both knew that it wasn't just Harry's disastrous altercations with Malfoy they were now referring to. Harry's voice was even but his insides were not. He felt frayed and bitter over the injustice of it all. It surprised him; he long thought he'd forgotten those torturous hours he spent under this particular Professor's tutelage.

"Perhaps, yes. I had a part to play." Snape was guarded now, the shadow of amused openness his face had held minutes before now wiped away as he registered Harry's tone for what it was. A demand for answers. A demand for the truth. A threat.

"You enjoyed it," Harry hissed, sudden anger slipping forward over his accusations "Every moment of it, I _know_ you did. I could always see it in your face."

"Potter, nothing I say will wipe that time out, and no amount of apologies will change what has passed. So, are we going to be able to move past this, or do we need to bring this meeting to a close?"

Harry had the distinct impression Snape was working hard to reign his temper in, but for once, Harry wanted to see his anger, wanted to hear this man answer for what had happened- all of the cruelties he'd witnessed this man commit.

"Are you sorry?" Harry whispered, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice, as well as the barely contained hold on his still-volatile temper.

Snape looked at him for a long time, and Harry watched the emotions flicker over the man's face. The seconds ticked by, and Harry's anger ebbed away. He wondered how this would end, with the two of them here, this greatest of barriers hanging between them, waiting to be demolished, weakening by the moment, but still there, anchoring them to this awful, real and painful truth.

"More than I will ever be able to express…Harry." Snape finally said, and to his credit, he gazed directly in to Harry's eyes. He could feel the weight of the sincerity there, in those burning, liquid, shrewd eyes that were altogether full of an emotion Harry had never seen before.

He nodded, mute and numb, realising, in a confusing, simultaneous moment, how difficult that must have been for Snape to admit, yet he wondered if it was enough.

Harry didn't trust himself to speak, so he quietly left.

Snape didn't stop him.

0000

Harry sighed as he sunk in to his accommodating couch, pressing his hands in to his sore, weary eyes. He let the warmth of the already-set (by Emmy, he assumed) fire flood through his chilled body as he tried to let go of the tension knotting his muscles. He felt irked that it was Snape who'd caused it again, though not as annoyed as he was with himself for letting their interactions escalate in to bad feeling. _Again._ He felt stupid for ever thinking it was solely Snape's grudge that put a wedge between them- in reality is was just as much him, though Harry felt his cheeks heat when he realised it was because he was_ hurt _over how he'd been treated. Still, after everything. What sort of fragile, piteous school boy was he? Snape must think him ridiculous to display such weakness. Foolish to believe himself mature, strong or knowledgeable enough to be considered capable of teaching others.

He was pulled from his melancholic bout of self-pity by a familiar bushy head appearing in the centre of the fire.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, giving her a tired smile "What's up?"

"Hi Harry," Hermione returned his smile with an enthusiastic yet business-like look "I was just confirming with you over tomorrow night- Ron's set to get in at six?"

Harry gave her a blank, slightly guilty look. He had no recollection as to what she was talking about.

"You forgot, didn't you?" Hermione gave him a half-exasperated, half-indulgent look "What on earth have you been up to the past few weeks? I've barely heard from you and now you forget Ron's home-coming party!? Is everything alright?" Her brow was creasing in concern now as she cast a discerning eye over him, noting his messy hair where he'd repeatedly run his clammy hands through it, his tired, red-rimmed eyes, framed by dark circles.

"I'm fine," Harry replied quickly "Just busy. I'm really sorry Hermione, of course I'll be there. Is there anything I should bring?"

"Just yourself, if you can manage that," She arched an ironic eyebrow at him but gave him a small smile too, letting him know he was forgiven for his transgression "Half past five please, try not to be late. 'Night Harry."

With a small 'pop' she disappeared, leaving Harry feeling worse than ever. She'd been excited about Ron's return for months, desperately sad through his absence but covering it well with her very own brand of Hermione-strength resilience. And Harry had hardly been there through any of it. He vowed to be a better best friend from now on.

Harry opened his desk drawer to retrieve Ron's home-coming gift, which he'd been putting together for a while; a deep, rich wicker basket filled with some of his favourites- a large proportion of the things he'd had to go without whilst on assignment in a remote country. For Ron, this had undoubtedly been difficult, so used to home, love-filled comforts as he was. Harry added the expensive, matured bottle of Firewhiskey and wrapped the basket with difficulty, by hand. The pain-staking nature of it alleviated some of his guilt as he worked, though he was still restless as he eventually fell asleep.

0000

The following afternoon, as he ambled in to the lounge of the Burrow, he nearly dropped the heavy, cumbersome basket as something small, fast and loud collided with his lower legs.

"Hi Teddy." Harry gave him a big grin, suddenly feeling immensely fond of his Godson "Wow," he exclaimed, placing the basket on the floor and crouching down to face Teddy "Look at you! You've grown at least half a foot…" He really had, and he'd filled out, his hair longer, Tonks's button nose now more prominent than he'd ever seen it.

Teddy gave him a smile, though a small frown was developing on his young features "Have you been away like Uncle Ron, Harry? I haven't seen you for AGES."

Harry placed his forefinger under his small chin, tilting Teddy's head up to look in to his eyes "I haven't, Teddy. I'm sorry. Do you forgive me? I promise to come over soon." Harry felt, if it were possible, even more guilty than he had the night before, faced with the innocence of this infant who knew nothing of the trivialities of adulthood.

"YES! I've got a new train set Harry! It has lots of colours, the red ones are my favourite." he rambled, gesticulating excitedly, his accusation forgotten. "Are they now?!" Harry laughed, sweeping the little boy up in to his arms and smiling again when he felt little arms reach behind his neck. Though harry couldn't see it, Teddy's hair changed rapidly, morphing from a short brown to a mop of curly black hair as he rested his check against Harry's shoulder.

Harry caught Andromeda watching from the doorway, and Harry bent to give her cheek a kiss, slightly awkwardly under Teddy's weight.

"Come by whenever Harry," she smiled "We've missed you." she added, her eyes raking pointedly over Teddy's new look.

"I will." Harry replied, with conviction, placing Teddy on the floor who aimed for a pile of books in the corner.

"Is that you, Harry dear?" He heard Mrs Weasley's dim voice echoing somewhere in the house "I'll be down soon."

"No problem!" Harry called "Can I help at all?"

"You can, Mr Potter." A stern voice came from the entranceway to the kitchen. A tea towel had been charmed to throw itself at him, rather violently, in his opinion. His good reflexes reacted quickly though, and he caught it before it had chance to land on his head, which he had no doubt would have been a harried-looking Hermione's intention.

She had a stained floral apron on, her hair slipping out of a barely-contained bun as she eyed him with a hand on her hip, her free arm wrapped around a bowl of mashed potato "Help me wash these dishes please; we haven't got enough."

He followed her in to the kitchen, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her briefly in to his side as he gently kissed her cheek in greeting "Hey Hermione." he said, trying not to laugh at just how much she was channelling the Weasley matriarch at the moment.

She gave him a brief smile, and continued to organise, wash, cook, and generally demonstrate a whole other multitude of tasks which highlighted her newly-acquired domestic Goddess-ness Harry shook his head. He hoped Ron knew just how lucky he was.

Over the next couple of hours, people continued to arrive- Bill, Charlie, Percy and George, Luna, Neville, Mr Weasley and, to his surprise, Ginny, who gave him a brief smile but who did not kiss his cheek, hug him, shake his hand or exclaim a loud greeting as the others had done.

Ron arrived at precisely six pm, as Hermione had promised, looking older, skinnier, frecklier. Different. Tired, but clearly delighted to see them all.

They sat down to eat, and Harry joined in the talk with gusto, feeling doubly fond of everyone in the room, realising how little he had seem them all over the past few months.

Later, when there were only a few of them left, sipping mugs of hot chocolate or glasses of mead by the roaring fire, Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, easy, quiet conversation passing between them. His two best friends had not really let go of each other, and now they were curled up together on the sofa under an old, cosy, crocheted afghan, their fingers laced together over the top of it. Harry was slouched on a bean bag to the side of the sofa, eyes heavy and muscles relaxed.

"How are things really, Harry, at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, gently

"Busy," He replied, honestly "But that's not what you meant, is it?" he gave her a smile, asking her to continue.

"Well, no. I meant how are things with Professor Snape, actually." she replied, pointedly.

"That's got to be one of the most obvious questions you've ever asked, 'Mione." Ron interjected, yawning slightly "He's an absolute git. How do you suppose things are going?"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished "Harry's making a real effort to have a working relationship with him, aren't you Harry?"

"Er," Harry stalled "I suppose so. Well, I'm trying at least. Every time I think we've made progress, one of us says or does something and it's like we're back to square one. It's like we can't get past the stuff that's happened."

Hermione nodded, listening intently "It's going to take a while. There's a lot of stuff that has occurred between you both. Those things don't just go away just because time has passed."

"I'm not sure it's ever going to work to be honest, though I don't feel like he might hex me whenever I'm in his immediate presence any more." Harry replied, wryly.

"Well, that's progress." Hermione conceded, smiling at him encouragingly, whilst Ron snorted.

"Honestly mate," Ron directed at Harry, a commiserating look on his face "I don't envy you at all- I can't think of anything worse than being forced to work with that dungeon bat. He was always such a complete bast-"

"_Ron!_" Hermione levelled at him, rather furiously "You're not helping!"

"Keep going Harry, it can't be easy, but Snape has a lot to give," She shot Ron an angry glare when he made an incredulous noise in the back of his throat "Would it help if you got to know him better outside the castle? Maybe a change of scenery would make a difference?"

"The poor bloke already has to work with him, and now you're suggesting that Harry give up his precious time to go on some kind of man-date?!" Ron said, regarding Hermione as if she were a particularly odd-looking alien.

"Of course not!" Hermione snapped "I was going to suggest that Harry invite him over for Christmas." she continued, as though this was the most sensible option in the world.

"Uh. Here?" Harry asked, incredulously.

Ron looked positively horrified. "No WAY Hermione. I'm not having him here! This is my first Christmas at home in two years. I'm not having him ruin it for everyone. Besides which, have you asked Mum?!"

"I have, she's been trying to get him here for years, I'll have you know, especially since the war ended." Hermione returned, haughtily.

"And you think I can be more persuasive?" Harry raised his eyebrows

"Harry, you cannot be thinking seriously about this!" Ron complained "It was uncomfortable enough when we were forced to have him with us during that year at Grimmauld. And he _had_ to be there then. Don't invite him voluntarily!"

"Don't worry Ron," Harry chuckled "The sky would turn green with blue polka-dots before Severus Snape would agree to attend anything along the lines of an enjoyable social gathering. Christmas is safe!"

Ron looked unbelievably relieved, though Hermione shot Harry an annoyed glance.

"You could at least _offer._" She persisted.

Harry nodded as he rose, reaching for his cloak resting on the back of the sofa before giving Hermione a quick peck on the cheek and Ron a squeeze of his broad shoulder.

"I will, if I get chance. Goodnight you two, thanks for feeding me." He smiled at them both, his friends already lost in each other, their quarrel from minutes before long forgotten.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 **

**Thank you again to those of you who reviewed, and those of you who took the time to give me your thoughts and advice- this is the first time I've written anything of this length or type so I really appreciate your input! **

**Something is going to happen in this chapter which will change the dynamic between them both quite significantly. Please let me know what you think… **

**As ever, I don't own any of these characters *sigh* only the plot line… **

"_Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith." – Margaret Shepard _

The next couple of weeks were a blur for Harry as the season slipped in to December on a wave of bitter winds and steel ice. The castle became festive, but the draught and the cold were difficult to keep at bay. He began to long for the Christmas break when he could spend time in a warm house with a regular fire and copious amounts of food, and not have to dodge treacherous icy stairs or Peeves' well aimed melt-water balloons.

Harry had not had much contact with Snape, mostly because it simply had not been necessary, though he couldn't deny he was glad of the excuse to maintain some distance. He felt marginally ashamed of how he had behaved, especially seen as they had been, by all accounts, getting along rather well. Snape had even called him Harry- which, to his knowledge, had never been a label used in connection with himself that had ever passed through Snape's lips. He wasn't sure how Snape would react, should he see him again, given that he had virtually thrown his advice back in the man's face by bringing up an element of their past he had long thought he had put behind him.

Still, he was aware that Snape had mentioned reviewing the remaining plans for the lessons in the New Year prior to the Christmas holiday, and so, biting the bullet one evening in mid-December, Harry wrote a careful but simple note:

_Dear Professor Snape, _

_I understand that you wish to review the lesson plans for the winter term following the Christmas break. They are enclosed here. Please do not hesitate to contact me should you feel they require further alteration. _

_Best wishes, _

_Harry _

He had a reply within a half-hour, Sox settling in through his window and holding out his leg patiently, angling his head for a stroke whilst he did so. Harry noticed the ink was still wet over the familiar, elegant writing. The thought that Snape was down in the dungeons, hurriedly replying to Harry's polite missive, made a sudden, unexpected, odd feeling sweep through him.

_Mr Potter, _

_I shall review these and get back to you. Wednesday at 7, if this fits with your hectic schedule? _

_Regards, _

_SS _

He could virtually taste the sarcasm laced through the words, though Harry was unsure what had warranted it. Had Snape noticed Harry's reluctance to communicate with him over the past couple of weeks? Well, of course he had, being the stubbornly observant prat that the man undeniably was, but the fact that it had bothered Snape enough to allude to it made Harry feel uncomfortably guilty. This was a decidedly unfamiliar emotion when it came to anything to do with Snape.

Harry scrawled a swift reply and gave it back to his haughty owl, who looked most unimpressed at having to take flight on another short journey-

_7 on Wednesday is fine. _

_Thanks, _

_Harry _

0000

The dungeons were even cooler than he remembered, and he shivered slightly as he descended, wrapping his cloak around himself tightly. He felt nervous again, though the regular occurrence of this Snape-related feeling was beginning to grate on him somewhat. He wondered about the wards for the second time, as they allowed him easy entry once again following the short rap of his knuckles upon the polished wood.

Snape regarded him carefully as he entered, his gaze as intense as ever though his face remained relatively impassive.

"Evening, Potter," he spoke, his voice bland "Take a seat."

Harry nodded, obliging.

Silence descended on them both, and Harry could barely breathe through the awkwardness of the moment as it dragged on in to the unspoken abyss. Harry marvelled at how Snape could seem so utterly unaffected by it all, gazing quietly at Harry's shifting form.

"Professor, I'm sorry about our last meeting. I shouldn't have brought it up- It wasn't helpful or particularly appropriate…" Harry trailed off, avoiding Snape's eyes.

"It clearly needed to be said, Potter. Is there anything else you wish to say on the matter?" Snape asked in a measured tone, those same unflinching eyes surveying him with intensity.

Harry shook his head briefly, feeling like the embarrassed school boy after the outburst.

"Then consider it settled unless any other particular concerns arise. Tea?"

Harry nodded, though his suspicion levels were sliding up. Since when had Snape been so gracious? The man had no malice lining his features though, his movements were smooth, relaxed even. Though he was one of the most enigmatic people Harry had ever known, he had been around his former Professor long enough to know when there was anger underlining his motivations. Harry tried to relax a little.

"Do you have plans for Christmas, Professor?" Harry asked, curiously, accepting the cup of tea. Harry noted that Snape seemed to know his preference for the beverage as he sipped the sweet, hot liquid. He didn't know quite what to make of that.

"When have you ever known me have plans for this infernal holiday?" Snape spoke, looking slightly irritated.

"I haven't known you at all, actually." Harry pointed out, watching him.

Snape raised an eyebrow in response, slight amusement smoothing his irritation at Harry's personal questioning.

"Quite." He agreed, running a pensive, pale finger over his upper lip.

"Well, would you like to spend it with me?" Harry blurted, rushing over his request and rattling his tea somewhat precariously, feeling his face heat "I mean…uh…there's a few of us getting together. Minerva will be there." he finished, somewhat lamely.

"Potter…I." Harry raised his head at Snape's pause, catching him doing some very un-Snape-like…hang on, was he _squirming_?

"You don't have to though." Harry added, quickly, wanting to alleviate Snape's discomfort "I know it isn't really your scene. Just…no one should be alone at Christmas."

"I won't be alone…Harry," he replied, softly, rolling Harry's name as if his very tongue was rusty uttering the necessary syllables "I'm part of the staffing that remains behind to care for the students who do not return home."

Harry nodded, deciding not to push it.

"Will you come to the staff party then? Minerva wishes me to inform you that you only have the choice of one or the other." Harry flashed him a devious grin, pleased at his own inspiration. Even if it was not wholly honest.

"And what makes you think I will pay any attention to such a ridiculous ultimatum?" He levelled at Harry in a smooth, dismissive tone.

"Because you are, as Hermione puts it, a 'man of honour'."

"Flattery, Mr Potter?" Snape stood to collect his empty tea cup, levitating them both to a nearby tray, and then surprising Harry by suddenly swooping low, his face coming to rest just inches from the side of Harry's rapidly-reddening cheek "You know what they say about that…" he murmured silkily, his breath brushing up against the sensitive shell of his ear. Harry tried to suppress the shiver that reared up at the confusing combination of the sensation of being whispered to, and the effect of having Snape in such close proximity. He had silently manoeuvred himself away within two beats of Harry's alarmingly-stuttering heart, however, making to reach for Harry's latest pile of scrutinised efforts from a shelf behind his desk.

"Er…" Harry cleared his throat, trying to focus "Will you consider it, though?"

Snape looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable "Perhaps." he replied with finality, letting Harry know that the subject was dropped.

"These plans," Snape began again, after a few moments, handing Harry a pile of parchment "Are suitable. I think it is a little ambitious to cover the dark curses in one session, however. Three is more realistic."

Harry nodded "I thought so too- but their practical NEWT mocks are the following week. If I do more than one session it will push back their revision time." He reasoned.

"Potter, they are NEWT students. A certain amount of self-directed learning is mandatory. Stop mollycoddling them. They won't thank you for it when it comes to the real exams." Snape replied, irritation slipping in again.

"Fine. But if they start asking for extra lessons, I'll direct them to you." Harry levelled at Snape, a small smile pulling at his features.

"It would be my pleasure." Snape smirked "Since you've been teaching the lower years the scouring charm en-masse I've been looking for some test subjects for new detention techniques."

"Charming." Harry replied, pulling a face at the thought of his favourite group in the clutches of Snape's experimental punishments.

"I do have a reputation to maintain." He quipped, looking at Harry with an almost-smile.

"I've no doubt." Harry returned, rolling his eyes. He stood to leave.

"I'll see you at the party on Friday then, Professor?"

Snape merely arched an eyebrow in response, and Harry grinned back.

"Goodnight Potter. And by the way, to answer your query, the wards _are _ keyed to your signature, but only when I am here. Just in case you are gripped by a bout of your school-boy curiosity."

"My…wait, what query?" Harry muttered in slight confusion, until the words sank in.

He felt a sudden rush of fury "Have you been in my head?!" he accused.

"Hardly," Snape scoffed "You broadcast when you're nervous. And I am an extremely sensitive Legilimens. It was, in fact, you who was in mine." Harry caught the whispered hush of regret through the tone, as if he wished he had not brought the subject up.

"Er, right." Harry mumbled awkwardly "Goodnight then."

Harry missed the small sigh Snape gave as he left, the tired pinch of his nose as he turned toward his pile of marking.

0000

Harry wondered what he was doing as he traced the now familiar route to the dungeons, a package wrapped in blue-grey tissue paper and finished with a chiffon silver bow gripped in his cool fingers. He was nervous about how Snape would react, and wondered what on earth had possessed him to buy a gift for his supervisor on impulse whilst sheltering from a sudden, descending blizzard out in Hogsmeade the day before.

"Potter." Harry saw Snape quickly contain his surprise at Harry's presence "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, flatly, which left Harry in no doubt that he did not consider it much of a pleasure at all.

"I've come to escort you to the party of course!" Harry said, cheerfully.

Snape gave him an ugly look in response.

"I'm joking!" Harry laughed "Though seen as I'm here we could go up together if you like. Erm. I actually came to give you this." He held out the package in his hands. Snape took it, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"You don't have to open it now!" Harry exclaimed quickly, blushing as Snape had begun to pluck at the bow carefully with a steady forefinger and thumb. He wasn't quite sure why he didn't want to see Snape's reaction when he opened the gift, he just knew he'd rather not.

Snape looked at him for a moment, and then nodded, placing the package on his desk.

"I haven't got anything to give you." Snape returned, honestly.

"That's ok." Harry shrugged "I wasn't expecting anything. Are you ready to go? We're already late."

Snape grimaced in reply and Harry smiled as they set off up the damp and draughty dungeon tunnel, walking in companionable silence. Harry assessed Snape out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you wearing blue?" Harry asked, allowing shock to permeate his voice, knowing it would annoy the wizard next to him.

"I'm glad we've established that you do not suffer from colour-blindness Potter." Snape groused, predictably.

"Well it would never have been identified in your presence before now, would it? All that black…"

Snape merely grunted. Clearly, he was not in the most talkative of moods tonight.

"You look different," Harry whispered in to the space between them "In a good way…" he blushed, realising what he had just said and he determinedly avoided the other man's gaze as they approached the door to the staff room.

The party was already in full swing, and Harry felt himself grinning. If last year's party was anything to go by, he was in for an enjoyable night.

Professor Flitwick was engaged in a decidedly un-serious game of chess with Professor Sprout, who seemed rather tipsy already and kept giving her pieces mixed instructions. Harry tried not to laugh as he walked past, watching a Knight glaring at her, his arms folded haughtily, foot tapping in irritation as she gave the marble figure a string of non-sensical requests.

Minerva was embroiled in a heated discussion with Professor Vector, over, it seemed, the value of muggle items being adapted to a magical equivalent. Professor Vector looked utterly flustered as Minerva seemed to be particularly vocal on the subject of electric razors.

Madame Pomfrey was dancing rather exuberantly with Filch, who was red in the face and seemed vaguely alarmed by the whole process.

The rest of the staff were either sitting or slouching, glasses clutched in their hands and plates of pudding balanced precariously on their knees.

Snape was eyeing the scene with distaste. Harry chuckled quietly to himself, heading off to find something to drink. Music was playing from a wireless in the corner, and the air hummed above him with floating fairy lights and candle-filled mason jars. There were piles of charmed snow around the edges and corners of the room. The room felt warm, cosy, and good spirited, the minimal lighting and the roaring fire creating a gentle glow around them all.

Sometime later, Harry thought he knew why everyone was so merry despite the still-early hour. It appeared, rather childishly, that the 'Spiced Christmas Punch' was more spiked than spiced, and after a few glasses he felt decidedly foggy-headed and relaxed.

"Having fun, Potter?"a sleek voice uttered in his ear. He startled as he realised Snape was sitting next to him. When had that happened?

"Definitely," Harry beamed "Whatever is in this punch is good!"

"As much as that might be the case," Snape replied, plucking the glass from Harry's dangerously-limp hand "I thoroughly recommend that you do not consume any more."

"Spoilsport." Harry pouted in return "So, you've confiscated my drink," Harry continued "I think you owe me a dance."

"I don't dance." Came the blunt reply.

"Neither do I!" Harry laughed "That's no reason not to do it though."

"It is reason enough for those of us who are not as far removed from our inhibitions as you currently appear to be."

Harry stood, shaking his head to clear the sudden swimming feeling. He held his hand out.

"It would do you good, Severus Snape, to lose your inhibitions once in a while. Dance with me, please." Harry demanded, boldly. He was only vaguely surprised when Snape stood, slipping his warm fingers through Harry's own, and leading him to a space cleared for dancing near the corner of the room. The song had changed to a slow paced one, and Harry grasped Snape's hand in his right, his left snaking behind Snape's back. Snape responded, reluctantly, placing his arm around Harry's shoulder, though it was more a light pressure than a touch, as if Snape was avoiding as much contact as possible. Harry lead them to slowly revolve on the spot, surprised at his own grace considering the level of alcohol currently sloshing through his blood stream.

Snape was still rigid, his muscles tense and awkward.

Harry gently but firmly drew Snape closer to him, rotating his hand in barely-there, comforting circles in the centre of his spine, trying to get him to let go, enjoy himself. Harry had backed them gently in to a badly lit corner, the room to his back, so he was unconcerned that their uncharacteristic touch might be noticed. A dim, quiet part of Harry's brain asked him, for the second time that evening, just what he thought he was doing. That this moment was in some way both completely inappropriate and dangerously close to crossing a line he wasn't sure they were quite ready to venture near just yet.

"_Relax_, Severus." Harry implored, lifting his chin slightly to whisper in his ear.

Snape drew back slightly, regarding Harry with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" Harry questioned "You refer to me by my first name twice and I'm not allowed to return the sentiment?"

"I had not realised we were keeping score." Snape replied, softly.

"Really?" Harry murmured, drawing Snape back in to the closeness, barely a couple of inches between them "Because we're playing an interesting game here."

Harry felt the tense-ness shift from Snape's form slightly. He no longer felt that he was trying to dance with a lamppost. Harry felt a small smile pull at his mouth at the thought.

Now that he had achieved his goal of a more pliable Snape, Harry began to realise how close they really were. He could feel the warmth between them both, and it was making his skin tingle and pulse. Having Snape this near was causing something of a sensory overload for him. He could feel everything simultaneously; the softness of Snape's fingers, clasped in his own, strong and sure and steady. The proximity of their faces, Snape's leg placed in the space between his feet, the warmth of the man's hot and spidery fingers on his shoulder. Harry's breath hitched as a thumb stroked very gently once, twice, three times over his shoulder blade, though he did not have time to register it as Snape twirled Harry away from him, pulling him back with a practised, elegant effort.

"I thought you didn't dance." Harry accused, slightly breathlessly, as the song ended and he released the hand he had been clinging to. He was surprised to note the sense of loss once the contact had ceased.

"I don't." Snape countered with a small quirk of his lips that Harry had come to recognise as his attempt at a smile "That does not mean I can't."

Harry shook his head. The moment whilst they were dancing had passed, and they'd slipped back in to their easy, teasing banter, but Harry remembered it, and the acuteness of it was making him dizzy. His head swam and his vision blurred around the edges.

"That punch isn't seeming quite as fun." Harry groaned as the room tilted slightly "I think I need to go."

"I agree wholeheartedly, Mr Potter." Snape replied, firmly, though Harry could hear the amusement winding through the words "I will escort you back to your quarters."

"S'not necessary." Harry protested.

"I beg to differ." Snape stated, coolly.

Harry frowned, reluctant to leave all of a sudden and not wanting to let Snape use this as an opportunity to humiliate him. However, his ability to assert himself appeared to have left him somewhere around his third glass of punch. His next coherent thought occurred half-way along the north corridor, where he found himself trailing after an irritated looking Snape who was firmly marching forwards, his arm angled behind him as he held Harry's wrist in a vice-like grip.

_Ooops._ Harry thought to himself, as he recalled a vague recollection of Hermione telling him what an irritating inebriated person he made.

Harry saw that they were in the corridor that held his accommodation, and he tugged his wrist firmly from Snape's grasp as he gained confidence in their approach to this known location.

Unfortunately, Harry had forgotten about the uneven stone paving that existed in some parts of the corridor, and his unsteady feet caught the edge of an upturned slab just as Snape turned, vexed, to investigate his sudden loss of contact with him.

He half stumbled in to Snape, who caught him in strong arms with impressive, ready reflexes, manoeuvring him gently to the floor, carefully and efficiently easing him to sit against the wall behind.

Harry looked up at a standing Snape, vaguely confused. "Why am I on the ground?"

"We're having a tea party." Snape replied, bluntly.

"Are we?"

"No, you idiot," Snape muttered through clenched teeth "We are here because you are drunk and I have the unfortunate task of ensuring you make it back to your rooms unscathed."

"There's no need to be rude," Harry scowled, though the strength of the glare was off-set by its unfocused air "Help me up, please, and I will remove my inconvenient self from your presence." He held his unsteady hands out to Snape, who took them with a grumpy exhaled breath, and gave a sharp pull to haul Harry to his feet.

Harry's trembling legs, however, had other ideas, and before he'd fully straightened up he felt himself stumble again as his knees gave way.

Harry heard Snape curse under his breath as he surged forward to save him from hitting the floor again. Before he realised what had happened, he found himself pinned against the wall by Snape, their chests pressed together and his legs constricted as Snape held them between his own, the man's arms resting either side of his shoulders, palms pressed against the wall behind.

Harry let out a surprised huff of air at the sudden change of position. The awkward, strange feeling he'd felt when they'd been dancing earlier re-surfaced again with a violent surge, causing Harry to shift uncomfortably. He raised his head to meet Snape's eyes, which he fully expected to hold anger, resentment, irritation at having to save Harry from himself, yet again.

Instead, Snape was regarding him carefully, the gaze piercing, controlling something Harry couldn't quite discern.

Every one of his nerve endings seemed to be on fire. He could feel the cool curve of the wall behind biting in to his back, but it was overridden by the intense feeling of warm pressure coming from the body in front of him. He felt assaulted by Snape's very presence; the smell of him, all warm spice and wood and smoke, could feel the rise and fall of the chest compressed against his own, though Harry wasn't sure whether it was Snape or himself currently near-panting at their proximity.

The moment was escalating, evolving, and Harry was utterly frozen, lost in the liquid, burning gaze. The glow from the wall sconce a few feet away illuminated Snape's face, shadow flames flickering over them both. As the seconds ticked by in time with the rapid beats of his nervous heart, Harry could see this intimacy begin to fall away, slipping through like water in a cupped pair of hands. The gaze Snape was giving him was shuttering closed, whatever control the man seemed to be wrestling with finally winning.

It hit Harry, with the sudden electric force of a lightning bolt. He did not want Snape to pull away. He did not want this, whatever 'it' was, to stop.

Taking a deep, steady breath, Harry threw the last of his misgivings over the edge of the familiar, unsteady precipice.

Harry leant forward, closing the centimetres between them as he tilted his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, and with tender deliberation, covered the lips in front of him with his own.

**Oh Harry, you brave, spontaneous drunk. Aren't people amazing when they do this? Just leap off the edge in the hope that it'll be worth it? I love them for it :) I'm truly sorry for the cliff-hanger. Review? It definitely encourages me to write faster ;) thanks again!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

**I'm genuinely sorry for how long it has taken me to get this chapter out- I've been madly busy but have also had a bit of a block about where I was going to take the story. I like to think I've overcome it somewhat and have a rough idea on where it will go. **

**For those of you asking for a chapter from Snape's POV…I'm working on it, though it's much more challenging than I thought (kudos to all of you who seem to write so effortlessly as him- I'm finding it super difficult to connect with my inner Severus!) but it is my plan to develop the story using a chapter(s) from his side of the fence. **

**Not much Harry-Snape interaction in this one but it's dealing with the ramifications of the kiss…more for the next update I promise!**

**Warnings: Bit of swearing in this one. You've been forewarned if this kind of thing upsets your sensibilities…**

**As ever, please let me know what you think! **

"_Life is messy. That's how we're made." – Grey's Anatomy_

Harry came to and opened an eyelid, allowing a sliver of bright sunlight to filter through. He groaned as said sliver punctured through his pressurised, throbbing eyeball in to his pounding head. Nausea flipped through his stomach as he tried to remember why there was a curious nagging feeling in his brain. Something that told him that _something_ had happened last night, and that something had apparently been preceded by copious amounts of mixed alcoholic beverages.

Harry tried not to wince at the intensive pain in his head after his summons to Emmy had emerged as a dry croak, and had to try hard not to cry out at her answering crack as she appeared in front of him, her face creased in concern.

"It's ok, Emmy," Harry smiled weakly, trying to head off any high-pitched elf squeak "It's just that punch is not my friend. Would you be kind enough as to bring me some coffee?"

The elf bowed and disapparated, re-apparating with a resounding crack rapidly before leaving again. Harry sighed as he poured the coffee. Why had he let himself get so drunk? He knew that it was never a good idea, as embarrassingly unrestrained as he could be with even a miniscule amount coursing through his being. He briefly thought of approaching Poppy for a hangover potion, but didn't want the lecture. And he definitely didn't want the smug comments from a certain potion-brewing professor, either. Harry tried to remember if Snape had been at the party last night. He definitely remembered walking there with him, but couldn't recall much after that.

As Harry made his way in to his living area, thinking very much of sinking in to the sofa to slob out his hangover for the majority of the day until he was due at the Weasleys later that evening, he stumbled slightly on a rough patch of his old, uneven floor. Cursing quietly as he tried to right the turbulent boiling liquid in his hand, a memory invaded his mind, painful, present, unreserved and unapologetic.

Harry swore again as a porcelain mug fell and shattered at his feet.

_He remembered. Harry could feel the sensation of the hot, rough lips pressed beneath his own. His heart was beating out a staccato rhythm and he could feel the pulse of adrenaline, arousal, incredulity coursing through his veins, his self, every fibre of every frayed nerve ending as his awareness told him, in a repetitive loop, exactly who it was_ _beneath his foolish move. _

_Snape. Severus. His teacher. His mentor. _

_What was he doing? _

_He felt tight, pinching fingers digging in to his shoulders, and he was abruptly pushed away, with much more force than his unsteady legs could strictly handle. He felt the clunk of his head connecting with the wall behind as he lost his footing. The alcohol made him slow and foggy, and he shook his head to clear the haze- just in time to catch the back of a retreating figure, sweeping swiftly away from him as if his very life depended on it, the tendrils of his deep charcoal hair whipping behind him. _

"_Severus," He called, his tongue feeling clumsy and awkward. Damn the punch. "Wait. I…" _

_The escaping figure did not hesitate, did not stop, did not react, and Harry was left abruptly alone, the quiet firelight still seeming to flicker on in its mocking way, as though nothing had happened. _

Harry was frozen. Horror-struck. Was that real? Had that _happened_? Harry sank in to the sofa, knees weak and trembling. He stared at his toes, running a hand despairingly over his neck and up through his tousled hair. He cringed as his hand found a definitive, raised, egg shaped bruise on the back of his head. Physical proof of his embarrassing rejection. Of this living nightmare.

"Fuck!" Harry cursed, dropping his head in to his hands. What had he been thinking?

Harry tried to keep himself busy that day, but he could not shake the memory, and it ceaselessly played on an endless loop in his head, nearly freezing him to the spot as he allowed himself to dwell on the realisation that, yes, he'd kissed Snape. And worse, he'd wanted to. And even worse than that, which he could barely even admit to himself- he had not wanted it to end once it had started.

The remnants of his brush with alcohol plagued him for the rest of the day, and combined with his disturbing, humiliating recollections he couldn't have felt less festive as he packed for the Christmas break.

0000

The Weasleys had, as always, a loud and busy house, a seemingly endless string of visitors. As fond as he was of everyone here, and as included as he felt amongst the homely environment and festive air, all he really wanted to do, if he was honest with himself, was hide away for a few days until he could stand to even think remotely about the previous evening. He was almost glad when he could escape to one of the top floors and collapse on Bill's old bed, letting his eyes shutter closed in his exhaustion.

Christmas day swung by in a flurry- there were children, and presents, and wrapping paper and squeals of delight. There was chopping and prepping and washing and eating- a lot. Afterwards there were games and snowball fights and laughter and mulled wine, and though he tried, Harry couldn't really enjoy a single minute of it. He was restless and distracted, and knew that it had not gone unnoticed. At several points he caught Hermione, Mrs Weasley, and even Ginny giving him side-long, concerned glances.

He was glad when he could finally escape from the scrutiny that had him plastering a fake smile on his face all day. He nursed a bottle of firewhiskey as he brooded over the disaster that had become his working life. How on earth was he going to deal with this? He was relatively sure that if Snape was not his supervisor it would have been as easy as breathing to go back to ignoring each other. But then, if Snape hadn't been his supervisor in the first place he was also very certain none of this would have happened. Could he approach McGonagall and cite that their 'irreconcilable differences' meant they hadn't managed to successfully work together? No, he didn't think she'd buy that one.

Harry slapped his palm to his forehad. _How _could he have been such an idiot? Such an immature, ridiculous, drunken school boy to act so inappropriately. He would be lucky if Snape didn't hex him in to oblivion the next time he had to face him, and he was certain that, this time, they would never be able to repair the tentative beginnings of the truce they had built.

Harry sighed as he paced the room, pausing at one end to press his hands against the rough, stone wall, resting his forehead against it and enjoying the distracting, gentle cool. He felt as if he needed to walk, really walk, as the rhythmic feel of his feet on the floor was keeping him from shouting out his frustration in the tiny, oppressive room.

Silently he made his way downstairs, climbing tentatively in to the dusty kitchen grate. Taking a handful of his own floo powder from a small box in his robes, Harry spun to his own quarters in a rush of flame and soot. He paused to grab a hooded sweatshirt to pull over his t-shirt and ratty jogging bottoms, the vague, damp chill of Hogwarts settling over his bones once again and forcing his cool body to shiver.

He set off down the corridor, thinking of heading to the roof of the astronomy tower, the thought of the view overlooking a snow covered Hogwarts alluring to his muddled mind.

As Harry listened to the echo of his own footsteps rattling through the deserted, empty quiet, he spotted a pin prick of light floating toward him. It was almost directly in front of him before he realised, with a sickening tug, the source.

A vaguely surprised Snape was swooping through the corridor toward him, looking more furious with every step as he took in the approaching figure. Panic flared in Harry's chest with such intensity it was almost painful.

Harry fought hard against the urge to turn and flee in the opposite direction. He knew Snape would most likely curse him before he'd made it three feet.

He stopped a few metres from Harry, and said nothing. The loudest silence Harry had ever experienced pressed upon him, filling the space between and around them.

"Er…Hi." Harry started, struggling to maintain that unflinching, accusing gaze.

The silence roared on.

Snape started toward Harry again, and he could not stop his involuntary flinch, as he anticipated a painful, silent hit from his stony-faced mentor. Instead, it did not come. Snape strode past him, that unique scent assaulting Harry's senses again as it rolled off his usual billowing robes.

"Professor…" Harry called "w…wait, please…" He reached out to touch Snape's wrist as he caught up with him, only to feel his grip yanked violently away as Snape turned on him, rage flaring through his depth-less eyes. Harry noted his sallow, pale features and, deep bruise-like shadows resting underneath blood-shot eyes.

"What, Potter?" He replied, his voice dangerously contained "_What_ could you possibly have to say to me?"

"I want to explain…" Harry started again, searching for the right words. What was he possibly going to say?

"I care not for any useless, garbled, stuttering school-boy explanation coming from you, Potter. Kindly remove yourself from my personal space and stop polluting my oxygen with your useless attempt at trying to justify your pathetic, vaguely violating behaviour." Snape hissed, acid coursing through each angry word, chosen specifically to hit him where it would do the most damage. No one could say Snape wasn't consistent.

Harry winced and felt his cheeks flare. He didn't think he'd ever felt more humiliated, or more ashamed.

"I'm…I'm sorry Professor. It was inappropriate, and it shouldn't have happened, and it definitely won't again."

Snape narrowed his shrewd eyes "It most certainly will _not_. As of the first day of term, my supervision of you will be terminated. It is my sincere hope that I will have no further contact with you from that point forward. Goodnight, Mr Potter."

Harry was left with a strange sense of déjà vu as he watched a retreating figure stalking away from him once again, leaving him in a dank and desolate corridor.

0000

Someone was waiting for him as he stumbled ungracefully over the iron grate and back in to the Weasley kitchen. He quickly cast a scouring charm over his soot-covered self, not meeting the questioning, intense gaze searing him from the other end of the kitchen table.

"Night-time wanderings, Harry?" Hermione questioned "I thought we'd all grown out of those…"

"You, maybe," Harry quipped, giving her a brief smile as he slid in to a seat to her right "I have to do it on a regular basis as part of my employment contract, remember? One of the many perks of being a Hogwarts professor…"

"In the early hours of Boxing Day morning? When you have Christmas off?" She returned, eyebrows raised and arms folded.

"I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to wake any of you." He explained "Though, uh, clearly that didn't work so well, sorry." He gave her a small sheepish smile, which she returned.

"No problem," Hermione replied, waving her hand in a brief gesture of dismissal "I'm putting the kettle on. Tea or hot chocolate?"

"Actually, 'Mione," Harry stifled a yawn "I'm kind of exhausted. I might just go to bed…"

"Not so fast, Potter," Hermione rounded on him as he began to rise, pointing the teaspoon at him. Rather aggressively, he thought "This is your opportunity to tell me what's been going on with you."

"Nothing's been going on with me. I'm _fine_." He was starting to get exasperated. He loved that she cared enough to wait for him to return from his contemplative pacing, but did she not understand that some people didn't want to share their 'feelings' at every given opportunity?

"Nice try," She replied, placing a much of steaming chocolate in front of him "But I've known you for over a decade. You'll need to be a little more convincing."

Harry sighed "I don't really want to talk about it."

"You never do, Harry," Hermione answered, her voice soft, her eyes kind "And it hasn't been particularly helpful for you so far."

He didn't know how to answer that one.

"So," she added, shrugging at him as she sipped her tea expectantly "Here we are…"

Harry glared at his cup, chasing a drop of chocolate down the edge of the cream mug. The silence dragged on and he brooded over his discomfort, feeling vaguely annoyed with his friend.

He raised his eyes to gaze at Hermione, who was still watching him unapologetically. _In for a penny, in for a pound _he thought. He suspected that she would find out eventually. He had also known his friend for a long time and knew the word 'Hermione' was synonymous with 'dog' and 'bone'.

He took a deep breath.

"I kissed Snape."

To her credit, Hermione only choked on her tea for three straight minutes before managing to look at him, face red and eyes streaming, to declare "You did?" in a rasping, questioning voice.

Harry nodded "At the Christmas party. I drank my body weight in spiked punch and he walked me back to my quarters and it just sort of…happened."

"Hmmm," Hermione mused thoughtfully "And how did that go down?"

"About as well as the night he found out Sirius escaped."

"That well, huh?" Hermione grinned.

Harry grinned back, and then his face dropped "I bumped in to him tonight, pacing the corridors. He told me he never wants to see me again. He alluded to the fact that he felt as if I'd _molested_ him." Harry felt thoroughly miserable, and more humiliated than he could ever remember.

"Jesus, Hermione," He exclaimed, running exasperated fingers through his mussed hair "The whole thing is a fucking mess. How could I be so stupid?!"

"You're not stupid Harry," Hermione soothed "And you're certainly not the first person to do something like that under the influence of alcohol. Though remember it only removes your inhibitions; it doesn't make you in to a different person."

"What does that mean?" He demanded in return.

"Are you gay, Harry?" She asked, clearly, unashamedly.

Harry felt as if he'd been winded.

"Pardon?!" Harry spluttered "That's…a…I…uh...Hermione!"

"Well?" She continued "Are you?"

"Hermione!" He exclaimed. "No! I'm not."

"It's perfectly alright if you are, you know." She carried on sipping her tea, unruffled by Harry's quivering near-meltdown opposite "There's not as much stigma attached in the wizarding world as there is in the muggle one, thankfully- most people in this community have the intelligence to realise that you love who you love, and that's really the end of it."

"I am not in love with Snape!"

Hermione smiled at him and patted his hand as she reached to collect his empty cup "You have a decision to make. Was it a drunken mistake you never want to repeat-"

"Ofcourse it was! Why would you ever think I would-" Harry interjected, earning him a glare.

"Or is it a part of you that was revealed when your barriers were dropped?"

Harry let out a tense breath, blowing his hair upwards and out of his eyes. He let his head drop backwards as Hermione set the used cups to wash with an efficient flick of her wand. She stopped beside him and planted a gentle, brief kiss on his forehead.

"Either way," She murmured, gently "It doesn't change anything. You are still my best friend."

Harry gave her a small smile.

"Hermione?" He called, just as she was crossing the threshold to the living room "Don't-"

"-Tell anyone? Especially Ron?" She finished, giving him a tender smile "Ofcourse not. 'Night, Harry."

0000

The following evening, Harry could be found stacking the fresh wood that he and Ron had just chopped in the yard beside the kitchen fireplace, when he heard a knock at the door. Mrs Weasley, who was busy preparing dinner, answered with a surprised "Minerva! We weren't expecting you until tomorrow! I'm afraid it's a bit of a squeeze tonight but I'm sure we can-" Harry watched Minerva put out a friendly hand to stop her explaining.

"That's quite alright Molly, I've come to speak with Potter, actually. It won't take long." She turned to nod at him with a glint in her eye. Harry was sure that, whatever it was, it would have some form of a telling off involved. Harry shook his head. Some things never changed.

"Outside, please, Mr Potter." The stern address came. Harry followed with his head bowed, avoiding any eyes in the room.

He tramped through the deep snow in the Weasley's back garden, leading the way to a quiet part of the garden with a small bench under a sheltered wooden arch. The arch was lit by hanging festive mason jars filled with candles, gentle, charmed snow falling inside them like a never-ending snow-globe, the lights of the fairy lights in the hedge behind glinting off the glass and creating a glow over the surrounding snow. It was a beautiful night, the air crisp and the atmosphere clear. Harry gazed at the stars as he sat heavily next to Minerva, determinedly not looking at her as he sighed at the sky.

"I had a visit from Professor Snape this morning." she began.

"Oh?" Harry replied, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"Yes. He is demanding to be removed from any role involving tutoring or supervising you. I thought you two had formed some sort of truce- you certainly appeared to be getting on much better, had become friends, even, if the Christmas party was anything to judge by."

Harry felt his cheeks flush suddenly and was very glad of the dim lighting.

"Are you going to tell me what has changed? Severus seemed more…upset…than usual when discussing you, which, considering all of the years you have been irritating him is definitely saying something." She gave him a wry smile.

Minerva was being firm and was obviously more than a little exasperated, but her concern for both Harry and Snape was clear. Harry felt doubly ashamed of the mess he'd created, realising it extended beyond just him and his former Professor.

"I…we…argued." Harry stuttered in reply, knowing it would not be good enough for the discerning Professor before him.

"That is nothing new, Potter, and I know you both well enough to know it is more than that. Explain, please."

"We disagreed, and obviously he can't put his ridiculous grudge aside." Harry shrugged, eyeing the footprints his snow boots had left.

"So," Harry continued "Who is going to be my supervisor now?"

"Nothing has changed, Potter. If you really have just had an 'argument', you should be able to make up as you have the other multitude of times you and he have had a spat and then forgiven each other." Minerva sniffed, making him feel even more like the school boy he so often felt like these days.

"This one was different, ok? I don't think it can be fixed."

"You had better find a way to fix it then, Mr Potter, or you could find your Professorship in jeopardy." Her austere gaze burned, and Harry felt warm despite the late December chill.

"Do you ever think it could be detrimental, forcing him and me together? Some scars go deep, you know. They don't just go away by telling people to get on with it. I've tried. It's not working. Is there nothing else that you can do?" He pleaded, miserably. He'd give anything not to be forced in to close confines with Snape at the moment, and was considering, for the first time since obtaining the post, whether he'd just be better off at another school, or even in another job.

"You are not dealing with this like the adult you are, Harry! There is no other option- either you find a workable solution for your tutoring, or you look for an alternative post, and that may involve considering a career outside Hogwarts."

"I can't believe this! My professional opportunities are being penalised because one Professor cannot get over his dislike of a former pupil! How is that fair?"

"Potter, you know as well as I do that you are in this situation because of the way you have _both_ behaved, so do not try the innocent victim stance with me. It will not work. I have had the same conversation with Severus and I do not expect to have it with either of you again. I have enough of a game sorting out playground squabbles amongst the students let alone being forced to do it amongst my staff. Grow up, Potter, and figure it out."

She stood swiftly, and swept out of the garden, her long, velvet robes whispering over the crunching snow.

**Review? I promise to update soon. Thanks!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 **

**Massive thanks and hugs and squishes to those of you who took the time to read and review. It really does keep me going! **

**This chapter marks the beginning of how Harry starts to work through the nature of his relationship with Snape and what it means to him. **

**I'm know it's slow, but I'm having way too much fun getting them there (and they will get there, I promise!) **

**Thank you again. As ever, I'd be super grateful if you could spare a couple of minutes to review. **

"_For they teach us to see the world through different eyes." – Jacob Nordby _

Harry was furious with McGonagall. Genuinely furious. Did she not care how he felt? It was all very well and good her telling him to 'get over it' but in reality it wasn't that simple. He would like to see how _she_ would cope being forced to work in such close proximity to one of her least favourite people. But then, he supposed, she wouldn't be dealing with odd uncomfortable feelings around them most likely, and would be handling it all with dignity and grace.

_Well too bad_. Harry thought, glumly. He was fresh out of dignity and grace these days. He wanted to shout and possibly throw things too- anything to alleviate the oppressive weight of confusion, guilt and tiredness about the whole situation.

Harry decided a flying session might help, so he padded over to the shed to retrieve his Firebolt. Harry had updated his broom a few times, but he still kept his original, his beloved gift from Sirius, here in the Weasley shed, where various members of the Weasley family could use it whenever the feeling overcame them.

Harry kicked off from the ground, feeling the give in the rapidly-freezing snow as he did so. His spirits soared as his height increased, and he sped off high over the frozen countryside. He watched the spider-light of the small hamlets and towns below, their tendrils reaching out in to the hills and valleys surrounding the area. He dipped and dived, feeling the icy wind whipping through his hair, biting in to his uncovered hands and face. Finally, the fear of frostbite in his digits setting in, and his vision blurring in the sudden heavy snowfall, Harry headed back to the ground, feeling a little lighter than he had before.

"Oh, there you are Harry dear," Mrs Weasley addressed him as he entered the kitchen, trying to blow warm air over his frozen fingers "dinner will be ready soon…have you been out there the entire time?!" She questioned, looking scandalised as she took in his appearance "You'll catch a death in this weather, especially in that thin jacket! Here, come and sit by the fire…" she pushed him roughly in to a spare chair near the fireplace and pressed a warm mug of hot tea in to his hands. Harry enjoyed the warmth spiking through his numb hands and nodded to her gratefully.

"Is everything alright Harry? You're looking a little…off." Mrs Weasley was gazing at him with worry etched in to her kind, lined face.

"I'm fine," He replied with a hasty smile "I just fancied a fly, that's all."

"That's all! It's a near-blizzard out there and you went out without telling anybody?!" Mrs Weasley was pointing an exasperated finger at him, her voice reaching a milder version of her usual angry shrill-ness "Some things never change!" she turned and began banging the pots and pans as she ladled large quantities of food in to several dishes, muttering about irresponsible children and their self-destructive tendencies.

"Aw, leave him alone Mum," Ron sauntered in, giving Harry a wink and his mother a quick kiss on the cheek as he began to take the overflowing dishes from her "Harry's always been a great flyer. He knows what he's doing!" Harry gave him a grateful grin, whilst Mrs Weasley merely huffed in reply.

Neither of them wanted to point out they'd both done much more than fly in bad weather conditions without informing another adult during the years of Voldemort's reign. Harry smiled quietly to himself as he realised that he had this family, his family, still. After all that had happened. He felt incredibly lucky.

0000

It was with a heavy heart that Harry packed his rucksack and headed back to Hogwarts, a couple of days before term started and shortly after New Year. He'd enjoyed the break, as difficult as it had been at times. Thankfully, no one else had tried to address him about his 'moods', though he had caught Hermione giving him furtive, worried glances a few times. He'd always smiled in reply, hopefully letting her know that he was fine, that he could handle it.

He certainly hoped that he could handle it.

Harry unpacked to procrastinate before the inevitable meeting he would have to face if he was to ensure the ongoing success of his career. He asked himself, for what felt like more times than he could remember, why it had to be this hard. Was a drama-free life too much to ask for?

Finally, frustrated with the idea of the discussion hanging over his head, he decided he could put it off no longer. And so, with trepidation rivalling his days earlier in the year, Harry approached the wooden office door that marked the entranceway to Snape's office. He'd checked his map just before arriving and was somewhat relieved to find him there. It seemed far less intimate than his quarters, and Harry was relatively sure he was far more likely to be admitted passage in to the man's work place than his living space at the moment.

Scowling slightly at his treacherous, trembling fist, he rapped his knuckles against the wood. He was surprised to note that the door swung inwards, the wards expanding against his recognised magical being as it had done before.

He was also surprised to find the office empty. He strained his ears to try and detect any sound, but could hear nothing. Harry frowned. Surely Snape hadn't left in the 30 seconds since he'd checked his location against the map?

"Hello?" he called in to the dim quiet "Professor? It's Harry…"

"I know it's you, Potter, I have the unfortunate ability to be able to hear your shambolic mind whenever you are within a few feet." Snape emerged from a cupboard that couldn't otherwise be seen in the minimal light of the subdued wall sconces. He was carrying a crate of glass jars that were clinking together as Snape stepped towards him. He was dressed in his usual severe teaching robes, his hair appearing as greasy and unkempt as ever.

Harry shifted awkwardly, silenced by his extreme discomfort. The pregnant pause in the room pressed against his being. He could feel himself beginning to sweat.

"Well?" Snape was regarding him with obvious distaste "Are you going to enlighten me as to why you are here, _yet again_, absorbing precious minutes of my life when I made it abundantly clear I wanted nothing more to do with you or your ridiculous attempt to develop as an educator?"

"I…I came to apologise." Harry began, holding Snape's gaze with difficulty, knowing his eyes betrayed every bit of his fear and anxiety.

"I really couldn't care less, Potter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do." Snape turned and began to pack the jars in to a small rucksack, resting them in his palm and shrinking them wordlessly and wandlessly as he did so. He was calm, controlled, distant. Everything that Harry was not.

He took several deep breaths. He hadn't really expected this to be easy, but he hadn't expected Snape to effectively ignore him, either.

"Professor, please hear me out. And then, if you still refuse to teach me, I'll never approach you again. But can you listen first? Please?"

Snape had stopped moving the jars, but was still stood with his back to him. It wrong-footed Harry not being able to see Snape's face, or more to the point, being able to guess what might happen next. The older man in front of Harry might have been a total enigma and a master of the poker face, but Harry had learnt to read Snape's eyes. They seemed to express everything that went unsaid, and with Snape, that seemed to be the majority of the conversation, the majority of the time.

He turned to face Harry, his eyes roaming over Harry's expectant face. Instead of the anger he was anticipating, Snape looked almost…resigned.

Harry didn't wait for a verbal invitation.

"I'm genuinely sorry for what happened. It was inappropriate and I crossed a line I shouldn't have with you- it sabotaged everything we'd manage to create, and everything we've managed to work through. I'm not sure why it happened- clearly my drunken self thought it was a good idea at the time, but please know- I didn't do it deliberately, and I didn't do it to humiliate you, and I can't take it back or un-ring that bell and I really just don't want to talk about it ever again…please can you accept my apology so we can stop having to discuss it?" Harry realised he was pleading, but really just wanted the whole thing to disappear so he would no longer have to agonise over it.

Snape looked at him for a long moment, appearing calculating and contemplative.

He eventually gave a short nod, his face carefully blank, and Harry relaxed his shoulders slightly in relief. He gave Snape a small, apologetic smile, which was not returned.

"Be in my office, Monday at seven, and don't be late." Snape angled at Harry over his shoulder as he turned to continue his task.

"Yes Sir." Harry replied politely, turning to leave. He noticed a pair of boots on the floor on top of an old tartan blanket. Beside the crate of glassware there was an open velvet case containing various odd looking instruments, which looked to Harry like varying versions of over-sized tweezers.

"Are you going away, Professor?" he asked, inquisitively, his eyes training over the unfamiliar equipment.

"Yes." Snape relied, tersely.

"Where are you going?" Harry persisted, his curiosity piqued.

"_Potter!_ Are you going to bother me all night?"

Harry blushed slightly, snapping his eyes to Snape's irritated features.

"Sorry," Harry shifted guiltily "I'm just interested…"

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose "I gather valuable ingredients from a certain location at this time of year." He eventually answered, reluctantly.

"Oh, ok…well, have a good day, Professor." Harry left, feeling relieved but a little saddened. He realised that whatever they had had before would need repairing, and he was at a loss as to how to even begin to do that.

0000

The following morning, dawn broke over a sleepless, wired Harry Potter, who was sat staring sightlessly at his desk, nursing his second cup of fresh coffee. He'd experienced an agitated, restless night in which his chattering brain chased sleep from his mind with its incessant, pointless noise. He was exhausted, but knew that it was no use trying to rest now. He resigned himself to copious amounts of caffeine and a day of paperwork.

Rising to re-fill his mug, he caught sight of his prized Marauder's map, resting under a paper-weight after he'd removed it from his robes the previous afternoon. There was minimal movement on it, apart from a small dot that appeared to be moving erratically around his office.

Harry was suddenly struck with an idea. A reckless, risky, hopeful sort of idea. He quickly pulled a long, winter coat over his casual robes, grabbed his scarf and gloves, poured the remainder of his coffee in to a flask, shrunk it along with the iced buns Emmy had delivered for breakfast, and promptly left his quarters, walking briskly along the chilled corridors before reaching Snape's office.

He opened the door, feeling the magical expansion of the wards wash over his skin.

"Potter." Snape acknowledged, gazing at him with only vaguely contained surprise "Clearly I need a copy of your ridiculous map, then I'd be able to skilfully avoid your frequent bouts of stalker-type behaviour. To what do I owe the pleasure on _this_ occasion?"

"Morning Professor," Harry gave him a sheepish grin "I've come to ask…take me with you today, please?"

Snape raised an eyebrow "Excuse me?"

"Take me with you." Harry repeated

"I think not," Snape replied, scowling harshly "why on earth would I do that?"

"Because I want to help," Harry shrugged "and I want to see what you're doing." He added, hoping Snape appreciated the honesty.

Snape's gaze intensified, and Harry resisted the urge to wilt under it. He chewed his lip nervously as he awaited the verdict.

"Fine, Potter. But if you sabotage this exercise in any way, intentionally or otherwise, I'll be extracting your fingernails and adding them to my ingredient store. Clear?"

"Crystal." Harry rolled his eyes internally, but secretly felt slightly euphoric with his accomplishment. He hadn't expected it to be that easy.

A short while later and he stumbled as his feet slammed in to an uneven surface. Snape's unruffled form steadied him with a momentary, reassuring hand, though it was removed so quickly Harry wasn't entirely sure he hadn't just imagined it.

Harry blinked against the sudden change, and particularly the lack of snow, the likes of which he had become well-accustomed to over the past few weeks.

"Where are we?" he enquired, taking in the rugged, unfamiliar landscape.

"The coast." Snape replied, shortly.

"Obviously." Harry replied, grumpily, still trying to quiet his spinning head and nausea-peppered insides. He still wasn't a fan of apparition, particularly over long distances.

He gazed at the turbulent, grey-blue mass dominating the view ahead. They'd landed on a sweeping bank that lead down to a small, deserted beach. Out to sea, a way off the shore, sat two lone rock formations, rising out of the sea like arrowheads. The grey, watery, early morning light illuminated the area. Up here on the pale green bank, the biting wind roared in his ears and swept his hair in to his eyes, blasting him with the tang of salt and winter and the promise of rain. Unlike the tainted, stormy cove he'd visited with Dumbledore on the last evening of the headmaster's life, there was something open and free about this place, something quiet and powerful. It was beautiful.

He hadn't noticed Snape watching him until he spoke. He looked at him for a moment, before turning to watch the shoreline as Harry had.

"This is Holywell Bay, in Cornwall," Snape began "we'll be collecting ingredients from the rock pools and the cliff tops over there,"- he nodded to the left "this area crawls with tourists in the summer, but is largely abandoned at this time of year. Personally, I believe this is when it's at its best. Come." He gestured to Harry as he set off down the bank at a steady pace, stopping now and then to examine some of the shrubbery.

They arrived on to the beach, and Harry ambled along trying to keep up with Snape, who seemed to sweep over the pebbled surface with grace and ease. They walked for a while, heading for the top corner of the beach, near the shoreline on the left hand-side. As they neared the base of the cliff the rocks jutting from the land scattered through the beach, rising up from the sand, causing large masses of still water to gather around their bases. This part of the beach was relatively hidden and sheltered. It was freezing; Harry's eyes watered with the sheer sharpness of the chill, but he didn't mind too much. The fogginess that had pervaded his mind for the past few weeks felt as if it had lifted, his exhaustion from this morning gone.

"Potter," Snape spoke, breaking the silence between them both "return this to normal size and start uncapping the jars- the smaller ones, please, to begin with." He handed Harry the shrunken rucksack he'd seen the previous afternoon and he reached in to remove the miniscule packages of jars, magically enlarging them to their original size quickly and efficiently. He watched with interest as Snape searched and bent and examined, removing various flora and fauna and sea creatures and pressing them in to the glass examination jars. Harry quietly re-shrank them afterwards and returned them to the backpack, which he carried as he followed Snape at a distance.

Harry was quite content to watch Snape as he worked. He was fascinated by the Potion Master's features as he delved deeper in his searches for a list of ingredients, Harry could only presume, were currently running through this complex man's head; Harry hadn't seen a whisper of paper throughout the morning. Far from the usual look of tension, judgement or distaste that coloured most of Snape's expressions, today he was lost in his tasks, his face seeming open, clearer, freer than Harry had ever seen before.

The interest he had in his work illuminated his features, making him seem younger, less burdened somehow. Harry was surprised to realise that he found himself wondering what it would be like to have Snape look at him like that. He blushed at the thought, and cleared his throat nervously.

The action seemed to startle Snape, who whipped around to stare at the interruption, a sea slug gripped between his thumb and forefinger. He seemed momentarily surprised to see Harry there, and the combination of the look on Snape's face, the creature he held, and the absurdity of their location made Harry suddenly fight the urge to laugh.

Snape scowled, the light from his features now long gone "Something the matter, Potter?"

Harry straightened his face "No, sorry Professor. Though, I was wondering if you wanted to stop for a minute? I've bought coffee. Your fingers are turning blue." He nodded towards Snape's pale, bloodless, icy fingers that seemed stiff and painful with repeated exposures to frigid waters and a cruel wind.

Harry spread the blanket in a sheltered corner of the cove before pouring out a mug of coffee for each of them. He offered Snape one of the fat, iced buns he'd gotten from the house-elf this morning, now slightly squashed from being shrunken in his coat pocket.

"Thank you." Snape murmured quietly as he gratefully wrapped his lithe, slim fingers around the warm mug.

They sat in comfortable silence, absorbing the magic of the fresh and active ocean. Harry felt calm for the first time in a long while, sitting cross-legged on a blanket set in to damp sand on this freezing January morning, Severus Snape by his side. He pulled his knees up, resting his chin on them as he gazed out across the shore.

"Potter, why are you here?" Snape suddenly asked, a catch in his voice that Harry couldn't quite interpret.

"Because you apparated me here?" Harry replied, slightly confused.

"No, Potter," Snape returned, annoyed "why did you _choose_ to be here, with me, today? I'm sure you had a list of far more important tasks to occupy your precious time with."

"Oh," Harry spoke quietly as he watched his heels dig in to the sand "well, I wanted to be out of the castle for a bit, I wanted to help, if I could, but most of all I just wanted to do something a bit more normal with you that didn't involve lesson plans. Or arguing."

"Hang on," Harry continued, turning to look at Snape who was sat stock still on the blanket, his legs folded underneath him and his arms crossed around himself "didn't you know this already? I thought I was an 'open book' the narrative of which is readily available to a Godly Legilimens such as yourself…?" Harry asked, a crooked smile across his mouth.

Snape arched an eyebrow in response. Harry was sure an acid reply about his intellect was on the tip of the other man's tongue, but for whatever reason, Snape held back, choosing to answer Harry's question directly.

"I have never deliberately used Legilimency on your mind since we began working together last term. Anything that I hear, I _receive_ from you, not because I am actively seeking it out through magical means."

Harry was confused. Why was Snape always so cryptic…couldn't he just use plain English like everyone else?

"I don't understand. What does that mean?" Harry questioned.

"It means that I only receive the thoughts you want me to hear. Your Occlumency barriers are otherwise adequate."

"Oh." Harry responded, wishing he had something better to contribute.

There was a pause before Harry asked "So, you don't hear everything that pops in to my head then?" He found that he was rather anxious about the answer.

"Mercifully not." Snape's mouth was twitching at the corners, as if he was battling against a smile.

"Is that what happens with everyone? All of your students, I mean? It sounds like a pretty noisy existence. No wonder you're always so testy with your classes…" Harry gave him a small grin and Snape responded with a look of mild warning.

"No." Snape eventually admitted, and Harry could hear the reluctance in his reply "There are not many who can penetrate my own barriers, even momentarily."

"Is there a compliment hidden somewhere in there, Professor Snape?"

"Hardly," Snape scoffed "Just a statement of fact. Your abilities are…significant, in _some_ areas. This has never been a great secret, Potter, so don't let it go to your head. Goodness knows it does not need it."

Harry laughed "Jeez, thanks Snape!"

They sat quietly for a while, companionable silence filling the space between them.

"Do you find it easy, Professor, to send your thoughts to others- can you do it as effortlessly as I apparently can?"

"Not exactly." Snape replied, but did not elaborate. Harry assumed that their question and answer session was over, and though he wanted nothing more than to sit and try to get Snape to continue to talk to him, he also knew he wasn't to push it so soon after their recent argument.

Just as he was considering packing up and contemplating what area of the beach Snape would choose to explore next, an echo of a sound emptied itself in to his brain- a thought that was not his own. It momentarily disorientated him, but not enough to miss the message.

_Thank you for my Christmas gift, Harry. _

More than the words, Harry could feel that it belonged to Snape, could almost taste the recognition on his tongue, as if they had been conversing this way forever.

Harry wanted to speak, but something stopped him. He could still sense the thought, but along with it came a tornado of feeling that he knew was also not his own. Emotions seemed to be bleeding around the comment, falling through the gaps of the connection Snape had opened between them. It felt like a reluctant affection, like awe, like gratitude. There was shame and guilt, and a tinge of pain; deep and old and rooted- but still raw. It felt intimate, and Harry suddenly felt uncomfortable. Was Snape aware of what he was sharing with him?

Harry looked up to find Snape on his feet, watching Harry with an intensity that caused his breath to catch. He saw Snape close his eyes briefly, no more than a blink, and the feeling left Harry with the sensation of an elastic band being snapped backwards in to its original place.

He felt a little breathless.

Snape lowered his hand for Harry to take, and he slid his softer fingers over Snape's rough ones before being pulled swiftly and strongly to his feet.

"Is it always like that? The thought thing?" Harry requested, not looking at Snape as he dropped the hand from his own.

"Sometimes." Snape responded, pointing his wand at the freshly-packed rucksack.

"I'll try and be a little quieter from now on." Harry gave the quiet promise to the wind.

0000

Some several hours later Harry was back in Snape's office, helping him unpack the various specimen jars they'd collected throughout the day. The remainder of the afternoon had been spent up on the cliff top, buffeted by the violent sea breeze as Snape absorbed himself in the collection of several different forms of plant life.

Harry was glad to get back to the relative warmth of the castle, the cold from the day seeming to have seeped through to his bones. His hair felt rough with salt and he could smell the ocean on his skin. He thought longingly about a warm bath and his soft bed as he silently handed Snape containers and equipment.

"Those need preserving," Snape stated, indicating a cluster of jars he'd put aside "I'll show you what to do."

"I didn't realise I was in detention." Harry huffed, feeling tired and crotchety after the long day.

"You wanted to help, did you not? It will not take long. As long as you do not make any mistakes, that is." Snape arched an eyebrow in irony, letting him know that he fully expected Harry to mess things up.

Harry suddenly felt nervous, doubtful that he was the right person for Snape to be trusting his hard-earned ingredients with. He bit his lip, eyeing the containers with some trepidation.

"Potter! Stop thinking so hard. Sit." Snape pointed to one of the stools that stood before a high bench that ran the length of the office back wall.

"These roots need to be cut in to fine, even pieces, and then four drops of this preservation potion added per ounce. Once that is completed, they can be placed in to the sterile jars ready to be shelved." Snape's voice was even, methodical and calm, reciting a process he'd no doubt done a thousand times before. Harry wondered if anyone else had been 'allowed' to perform this task for him before.

Snape handed him a sharp knife that curved upwards slightly at the tip, and set the scales down beside him. Harry's hands gave away his nervousness as they trembled under Snape's scrutiny, making his cutting movements feel brittle and awkward.

He genuinely tried, but though his efforts were marginally more successful than his years as a Potions student, he knew they were not to Snape's standard.

"Potter, you are too tense and it's making the edges of the root uneven, which could potentially make a potion unstable. Relax your wrist." Snape was leaning so low over Harry's shoulder that his hair brushed across the exposed skin on Harry's neck. He resisted the urge to shiver under the close proximity.

"I'm trying," he groused "but it's kind of challenging having you breathing down my neck all the time."

"How can I tell you how to improve if I cannot observe your methods? It is not my concern that you are unable to handle the pressure of being supervised." Snape replied, smoothly.

"It will be your concern if I carry on mutilating your ingredients." Harry scowled in to the green pieces littering the board under his hands, annoyed at them and his abysmal abilities.

"Your muscles are too tense- it's causing the angle of the knife to hit the flesh of the root too harshly." Snape spoke with more patience then Harry had ever heard or witnessed before. It made him want to succeed, if only to experience this calmer side of his usually-abrasive former Professor.

Harry was about to open his mouth to object again when he felt cool, slim fingers sliding over the under-sides of his wrists before gripping his hands in place. He felt the heavy, warm pressure of Snape pressed in to his back and his outer arms, and suddenly felt overwhelmingly tense. This embrace, however professionally-intended, felt far too intimate. Far too much like the line they had been dancing near for weeks, and which Harry had so blindly thrown himself over, with less than successful consequences. Harry didn't want to risk it again. But surely this was fine…this was work, wasn't it?

Harry fought to keep his mind carefully blank. He really did not want to upset Snape again, and with this tenuous link between them both he didn't want to take the chance of a wayward, inappropriate thought making its way through.

Snape was not making it easy, however, especially when he proceeded to demonstrate the rocking motion needed to cut through the stalks effectively, pushing Harry hard against the desk and causing friction in a place that he could really have done without, at that precise moment. This, combined with the silky, quiet commentary slipping in to his ears from the mouth that hovered just inches away from his face was causing him to go in to sensory overload.

Thankfully, the lesson was mercifully short, and Snape soon wondered off, sufficiently satisfied that Harry wasn't about to murder another set of precious plant-life. It gave him time to take several silent breaths and return his focus to the task at hand, the rhythmic action of which was both relaxing and hypnotic to his frayed nerves.

He'd got through several sets before Snape, startling him so much that the knife he'd been handling clattered to the floor, stopped him, informing him he was done for the evening and reminding him of their meeting in two days' time.

Harry nodded in acknowledgement, exhausted by it all and wrapped in his thoughts.

As he made his way wearily around the desk, he noticed a rich, leather-bound journal placed in the left-hand corner of the beaten surface. It had a stitched, emerald green cord tie wrapped around it, tied in a neat bow across the front edges of the tan cover.

Snape caught him looking, and Harry held his eyes for what felt like an eternal moment. He felt as if he should speak, but the sounds were stuck in his constricted throat. Instead, he turned to leave, knowing that, for that moment, at that time, he had no words to speak.

0000

Back behind the heavy door Harry Potter had just closed, Severus Snape reached out across the desk towards the object his mentee had just spent several minutes regarding intensively. He felt the solid, smooth object and entwined his fingers briefly in the bow he himself had tied, before flipping it over to read the embossed words printed neatly in elegant calligraphy across the lower edge. His eyes must have roamed over the lettering a hundred times in the past few days, since he had received the unexpected gift from the young man he had just spent the entire day with. Voluntarily.

'_Tibi gratias ago pro omnibus' _

"Thank you for everything." The Potions Professor murmured silently in translation, as he traced a lone finger over the curious, unimaginable words.

**Review? Bit of a longer one this time- I genuinely hope none of you are bored. Please tell me what you think! :D **


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